Like Playing God
by thewasofshall
Summary: Strange things happen when you wake up from a coma... like sudden telepathy. But chasing after the quiet girl in art class 10 yrs later isn't so easy, especially when she's trying harder just to push you away. All you have to do is find out why. AU/AH.
1. When The Past Catches Up To You

**A/N**: _The following story is a complete work of fiction; all character names and personality traits have been modified from those created by, and copy to, Stephenie Meyer._

_**Summary**__: __Strange things happen when you wake up from a coma... like sudden telepathy. But chasing after the quiet girl in art class 10 yrs later isn't so easy, especially when she's trying harder just to push you away. All you have to do is find out why. AU/AH._

* * *

Edward grasped the bridge of his nose and sighed, deeply. To be honest, even quiet days in his studio were no longer calm or, for that matter, quiet. Holed up in his loft and staring at his canvas gave Edward time to think.

_No, that wasn't right_, he mused.

The disappearance of that simple rustling of canvas was just enough to give the _room_ a brimming sense of calm. His mind was another thing altogether.

Try as he might, practice as he did, he could never get rid of Alice's contented and rather obvious sighs directed at his closed studio door… his back… his face when he clenched his jaw and wouldn't look at her... Even after eight years of friendship and four as his personal assistant/ receptionist/everything-rolled-into-one-gal, she still fancied him as someone worth settling down for. He had done everything to dismiss her quiet advances in college, had clearly stated his purpose whenever he needed a date for a heavy press rotation, and even said, out loud, "Alice, I love you as a friend but I am not in love with you." And yet, there she sat, blissfully unaware of his adamant refusals.

He could never tell her why he always felt the need to remind them of the boundaries of their friendship, though. That secret was holed up inside, torturing him right now as he rubbed his temples and heard her...

_If I wore the red dress, do you think he would notice I was trying to seduce him?_

He even imagined the blush creep up her neck.

_No, no… Alice, you're thinking too hard. What about that nice green button-up and that skirt Charlotte said looked 'pleasant'? Wait, is that washed? Did I wear that the last time I was his 'office date'? Don't I want something a bit more... sexy?_

He shook his head and tried to tune her out by focusing on the canvas before him. Ever since Jasper had called, he'd felt this creeping obsession wash over him, just like it had in high school. He knew he shouldn't let himself fall back into his feelings, but it was all too easy to get lost in her eyes. A rich chocolate brown…

_swimming somewhere between milk and 60% dark…_ he thought, giving one low laugh as he breathed out. _I don't know why I think up these stupid and pathetic chocolate jokes. The only one I would tell them to hasn't seen me in ten years and what would I get then, a sarcastic eye roll?_

The one mind he'd always wanted to read – tried desperately to read – left him with absolute silence. He could never figure out if the time he spent in the art room was for its intended therapeutic purpose or because she had just always been there and it was comforting to work beside her as if he hadn't woken up with this terrible gift he had yet to find a use for.

He stared at the shapes before him and softly stroked the air an inch above them. It was easier to paint her in abstract, to condition himself to think of her in the most basic of ways. His clients ate these paintings up, cooing over the 'subtle shapes' and 'precise blending of colors.' Then they would shyly look up at him and he would mumble an appreciative thank you before he heard too much about their plea bargains at seducing him.

He knew he should be happy people were so interested in his work – he _was_ making a considerate sum of money he had yet to view as indicative of any real effort – but the amount of cash some of these women threw at his paintings was never worth it to him. They were unhappy in their marriages and thought the 'Next big thing!' the 'New brooding artist!' the 'blahblahblah Edward Cullen!' was talented enough, was attractive enough, was whatever they weren't getting from their husbands… and worth a quick fuck to make themselves feel better.

It disgusted him, for a time; too many repressed memories about his ex-girlfriend Rosalie all but ruined casual sex for him. Not that he was having casual sex…

_any sex_, he grimaced…

but just hearing the lurid thoughts some of these women had were overbearing if not downright suffocating. How could he enjoy himself when he _knew_ they didn't want anything besides the popularity he rode effortlessly and without interest? He couldn't, not for a minute. Especially not when these women only wanted him because he was famous, because he had _gotten_ famous for these stupid and pathetic portraits that no one knew where portraits or even understood their blatant connection to one another.

Although it pained him to do so, he still attended gala events, still went out in the public eye to be physically appraised by horrendously shallow women because all his attempts at avoidance and cold stares only fueled the press, heaped on more attention, and made him infinitely more desirable. Now, he simply thanked the women and avoided their obvious attempts at flirtation, choosing to focus on his muse instead.

"Bella..." he mumbled distractedly.

She was beautiful to him even in such a distortion as he was attempting now. He could never get over the fact that no one recognized the consistencies among a good portion of his paintings. Didn't they notice the color palette? The mood? The story? It _could_ upset him if he listened to them chatting away at every show he put up. He could, _theoretically_, start exclusively painting what would commercially sell, what his manager and all his adoring groupies found more 'aesthetically pleasing.' But those types of paintings never engaged him the way his portraits of Bella did. Sure, he would make more money, but would be happier? More sane? Less stressed?

_No_, he thought automatically.

Producing another painting inspired by Bella was what he did when he _was_ stressed and they always seemed to calm him down even while they eluded him. So he preferred to focus on his clientele's ignorance and would always throw a couple of portraits into the mix. Sometimes they sold; more recently they didn't. He had no reason to care either way. Once a portrait was finished he would immediately start another, keeping a constant cycle out of habit and practice. He just wished she would show up unexpectedly and make him fumble over his explanation. Then maybe he could stop obsessing over trying to capture memories and moments that flew in and out of focus at such an alarming speed that he felt like he was grabbing at them and always remembering incorrectly.

He liked that feeling, that downward spiral into a bottomless pit that comprised his mumbled feelings and fuzzy memories of Bella. He sometimes loved that feeling, the freedom it allowed when he just forgot about everything in the present and simply let go. But he never liked to drown in it. Force himself to suffocate like he was doing now, absentmindedly permitting himself to dwell on what could have been but wasn't anymore.

He strayed for one infinitesimal moment and it was back, Alice jabbering silently as she clacked keys in the next room.

_I don't know _why_ he's acting like this, all sulky and pissed off… Wasn't he popular in high school? Wouldn't he want to show off how successful he's been, how talented and handsome he's become?_

Edward heard the typing stop as she sighed momentarily. He stood up sighing himself. He knew what he should do…

_Yeah! Call Jasper up and cancel right now!_

He knew what he shouldn't do…

_ask Alice to be his date; _under no circumstances did he want to be alone and _…vulnerable_. He immediately shuddered at the thought. _Lord knows what Rosalie would plan, especially if I'm sulking in the corner, alone, at our ten-year reunion. _He cut himself off. _Then why go? Why force yourself into this high probability for disaster? Why put yourself back into that mental state you've been constantly running from…_

"Bella," he whispered. He knew it was insane, he knew it was stupid, he knew he was being irrational…

_But what if she's there? What if I see her?_

It was definitely stupid. But his heart kept thudding in his chest, threatening to spill out with each beat it thundered, and he definitely couldn't ignore the creeping smile on his face, the sweat he felt trickle down his back, the gentle waves of nerves lolling in the pit of his stomach. Even if he hadn't said yes to Jasper, hadn't agreed to go to this stupid fucking reunion, just the _thought_ of her put in this state, this ironically calming state, that he would have called Jasper right back and agreed, too flustered to think up a good reason.

It was true, what Jasper had said, he _hadn't _visited Forks in a long time, hadn't seen his parents, or Tanya, or Peter in what, five years? Too long, they had mused. Why not use the reunion as an excuse to visit, surprise his family, escape New York City…

_Why not indeed?_

But there _was_ a reason, stuck in the back of his throat, consuming him right now as he concentrated so much he effortlessly blocked Alice out. He wouldn't tell anyone about the real reasons behind this sudden and rather unexpected behavior, but he would know, and he would keep watch.

He sighed again, resigning himself to the coward he was turning into more and more. Alice didn't need any more suggesting. She didn't _need_ to get her hopes up…

_but what if Bella's not there? No… what if she is because she's… _married_._ Edward shook his head._ Don't_, he warned himself.

Alice might not appreciate what he was about to ask if she knew why he was taking her, but he couldn't be so sympathetic now. He couldn't risk it after putting so much effort into his non-relationship with Bella. He grimaced and opened the door, turning to Alice just as she looked up expectantly.

"I was, uh," he rubbed the back of his neck distractedly, "would you like to go to the reunion with me?" She stared at him in surprise, for once, her thoughts not betraying her. _Way to fuck that up, ass!_

"Yes," she murmured, clearly embarrassed. Edward had a hard time focusing on her words instead of what she was thinking.

"Uh." _Ohmigod_. "I would love to." _Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!_ "Go with you." _Did he _really _just ask me? On a date?_ Edward internally groaned.

"Okay," he said half-heartedly before walking back to his studio. Alice's thoughts were overbearing right now; she was crowding his mind before he had even turned his back. He knew he shouldn't have asked but _Bella_… he shook his head to erase the thought. He was going to the reunion to see Jasper, to stop by his parent's house and see his family. He was taking Alice because it was the nice, gentlemanly thing to do. That was it.

_Yeah, right_, he scoffed.

It would sink in, eventually.


	2. Doubts

The plane ride was unbearable. All the alcohol Edward was consuming had just dulled the chatter instead of erasing it completely and now he was confined to his seat, stuck between a dozing Alice and an overcast cloud coverage that was only getting thicker as the plane flew closer and closer to Seattle. He was too wide-awake to sleep and too buzzed to properly concentrate and every once in a while his focus would wane and then the people in first-class would become louder. He would periodically tap into the mind's of people surrounding Alice out of morbid curiosity, but it was always the same.

…_that man… no, wait. He can't be more than 25, right? Patrick would _kill_ me if he knew how much I just want him to fuck me up against the bathroom mirror. Oh god… I bet his dick is huge…_

Edward whipped his head to the side and looked right at the person who had taken over his concentration, causing the middle-aged – yet bleached and coiffed – woman to quickly look away and fan herself as a blush crept up her neck. Edward was still staring at her in open-mouthed shock when she looked back flirtatiously. He merely snapped his mouth closed and grimaced at her, smiling slightly when she turned away and her thoughts quickly changed to ones of humiliation, but it was a few more seconds before he could tune her out again. He settled on turning back towards the window and sighed in spite of himself.

_God! Why the fuck did I sign up for this? I _willingly_ boxed myself into a steel death trap as it speeds towards the one place I absolutely loathe? Really? Who does that? Who honestly subjects themselves to a fucking high school reunion when they _hated_ high school? Hated the place? Hated the people? Wished for nothing more than a clean break, day in and day out?_

Edward shook his head, trying desperately to clear such obvious reminders that he was a Big Fucking Idiot. He began to clench and spread his fingers while shifting around in a futile effort to de-stress himself. His knee accidently nudged Alice and she stirred, mumbling incoherent thoughts. Stiffening automatically, Edward worried that he would wake her and have to fight off another attack of chirpy plans for the few days they would spend in Forks. After a tense second, she merely moved slightly and then fell into deep sleep again. He breathed out slowly.

_Calm down, Edward! Stop being a fucking coward. You'll do fine – Jasper will be there. And probably Angela and Ben, too. They were always nice to you, right? _He scoffed at his own question. _Yeah, especially when you didn't sneer at them out of pure contempt for their peers. No wonder you didn't have any fucking friends except for Jasper and…_

"Bella," Edward whispered distractedly. "Bella," he repeated more distinctly.

_If it weren't for Bella…_

_You would have gone insane. I know. I was there, remember?_

_Yeah, you're such a fucking saint. I always forget how warm and fuzzy my junior and senior years were._

_Uh, you're the one who shut down and wouldn't talk to anyone about this little "problem" you developed. If I remember correctly, Rosalie was _all_ too happy to fuck you whenever you merely hinted at something sexual._

_Right…. She was also the person who was only fucking me for her own personal, perverse fetish while trampling all over anyone who got in the way of her social trajectory._

_What. A. Bitch._

_Shut up._

_Whatever. You still should have stayed with her. That girl never fucking disappointed._

_Exactly! Pounding into that douche bag Emmett McCarty… Oh my god. Oh my god oh my god oh my god._

"Shit. Fuck. Dammit," Edward growled under his breath as he squeezed his eyes shut and started clenching the armrests.

_FUCK!_

_Dude! Chill the fuck out._

_But she'll be there! With him! Oh my god. I'm gonna throw up. Why didn't I even think that this would happen? I should have known. I shouldn't have told Jasper yes. I should have just played the asshole I've always been and said no._

Edward's breathing sped up as all the awful possibilities raced through his mind.

_Will she try to talk with me? Will she try to weasel an explanation out of me like she tried after the accident? I can't do this. I can't go there and play nice and have to swallow all the rage the two of them boil up inside of me. Oh god…_

He jerked his seat beat off and jumped out of his seat, causing Alice to open her eyes in sleepy confusion.

"What the hell?" she mumbled, yawning as she stretched her arms out. Edward was already half way down the aisle, his teeth clamped down to stop whatever was thundering around in his torso from coming out, and didn't acknowledge her question. His concentration was broken and he groaned in response to the torrent of thoughts battling against one another for his attention.

_I wonder what that was about. He's been acting so strange lately… it can't be this reunion, can it? Oooh! Will I get to meet his parents? He never talks about them but I know they aren't dead… wait – why is that woman leering at Edward like that…_

_Oh, yeah, honey… that ass is perfect! Mmmm… I can even see the muscles in your back rippling. Momma's gonna have no trouble getting off tonight!_

Edward slammed the bathroom door closed and quickly locked it before placing both hands on the small counter as he steadied his breathing.

_In. Out. In. Out. In. Out._

As his breaths became more even, he stole a glance upward to look at his reflection. He sucked in when he realized how pained his expression had become over the four short hours they'd been in the air. Shaking his head in semi-disgust, he leaned over the sink and began running the hot water. He needed to clear his head. He needed to get off this fucking plane. And then he needed to turn around and get right back on a plane to New York.

After splashing water on his pallid skin, he filled his lungs with a deep breath, willing himself to calm down enough to exit the lavatory and not snap at Alice for worrying about him. He owed her that much, at least.

Nodding to himself in the mirror, he let out a silent chuckle as the thought of his reflection winking in response suddenly popped into his brain. The thought was enough distraction to tune out the two flight attendants who had stopped gossiping and were staring at him as he walked quickly back to his seat. He didn't even need to read their minds to know what they were thinking; their loud and insistent whispers said it all to anyone who was listening.

As soon as his seatbelt was buckled, he glanced upward and was met with Alice's raised eyebrow.

_Shit._

"Uh… I don't like flying." _That part's true._

"Mmmm hmmm," she harrumphed before picking up the magazine in front of her and casually flipping through it. A second passed before she responded. "So this has nothing to do with the reunion we're going to?" Edward gulped in response, trying to buy time to formulate an answer. Alice beat him to it. "Well," she looked up, "I'm not leaving Forks until Monday morning. I took a vacation and I'm going to enjoy it whether you do or not." She returned to her perusing, the conversation over.

Edward sighed and leaned against the window. The rest of the flight passed just as listlessly.

* * *

Edward sat against his headboard, his right arm draped over his eyes while the TV remote lay on top of his open left palm. He spied a glance to the alarm clock on the nightstand and groaned at the time: 1:22.

Alice had knocked on their connecting wall almost three hours ago to softly say goodnight. She had mentioned that she wanted to get an early start the next day, but Edward knew the reason. Her stiff position and frozen, frightened stare on the car ride from the Sea-Tac airport to the Olympic Lodge in downtown Port Angeles had made it pretty clear she wasn't going to push for an explanation anymore. That and a constant barrage of 'please don't crash the car' during the two-and-a-half hour ride had replaced her usual flighty thoughts as he had stared at the road in front of him and floored it down the Olympic Highway. He had battled with himself the rest of the plane ride, walking through the airport, renting their car, driving to Port Angeles, and, even now, lying on his bed too wired to sleep. He had wanted desperately to just tell Alice the best places to visit before he boarded a plane, crashed into his studio, and sunk into his own bed once his feet rested securely on New York soil.

But he couldn't do it.

He saw the hope and trust in her eyes, read her worried thoughts – worried, not over his erratic driving or thoroughly depressed mood, but on _him_ and what the fuck was making him so irritable – and couldn't do it. Then he thought of Jasper, how disappointed he would be; his parents, how they would try to be angry with him for visiting and not stopping in but would eventually turn the anger on themselves, trying to pinpoint the reasons he never came home anymore, hardly called; and then Bella. It always seemed to come back to Bella.

He suddenly clicked the TV off and stared at the ceiling as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

_I'm here, aren't I? I had all those chances to say no, to walk away, to not come… and I said yes anyway. Isn't that enough of a clue that some part of me _wants_ to be here?_

"Ugh," Edward groaned in response to his own questions. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He knew Alice would be knocking on his door by nine no matter how long she had been awake and he also knew that he wouldn't have to push himselfvery hard to oblige her.

He unbuttoned his jeans and shrugged them off before struggling with his t-shirt as he pulled it over his head; he then climbed into the cold, stiff hotel sheets.

_As much as I might kick myself for coming, as much as I might want to die – feel like dying – nothing terrible is going to happen on Sunday. It's, what, a four hour night, tops? I can handle that. Back to back openings have never seemed so easy…_

Edward closed his eyes, his smile widening as he thought of Bella once more. She always it made it easy to fall asleep.


	3. Domino Effect

"And your name, please?" _Fuck me… even hotter than he was in high school_.

Edward felt like screaming, the chance she _thought_ she had only adding to his invidious mood. He had slept – not pleasantly, per say but definitely contently. Dreamless sleeps will do that to anyone who needs time to rest all parts of their body. Edward's mind had been exceptionally wired all weekend and he had taken whatever momentary hibernation was offered – but that reprieve came screeching to a sudden halt as soon as he had driven Alice and himself into the high school parking lot. He had stupidly forgotten how much _noise_ his alma mater could produce.

Alice had woken him up early on Saturday, as expected, and was back to her usual cheery self as if her worry the night before had been completely forgotten. This time, however, Edward didn't have to work as hard to block her thoughts from bombarding him: the words she was speaking and the words she was thinking constantly wound into one another that Edward found himself frequently biting his tongue whenever he was about to respond to the wrong thought. It didn't even matter that her feelings for him would pop up unexpectedly, only to vanish just as quickly as they had come, because sparring Alice's feelings was very low on his current priority list.

"What do you want to do, Edward? Where do you want to go, Edward? What do you want to eat, Edward? I can't believe you never told me about this, Edward!" formed the basic tenets of her tourist vocabulary, followed in quick succession by _It's so quaint here! I can't believe he never comes here anymore… so beautiful and quiet! And, oohhh! everyone is just so _nice!_ We could raise our children here! And leave New York and buy a house…_

Edward was trying, really. He was trying to put on a smile for Alice, trying not to let her know that coming here for his high school reunion was one of the biggest mistakes he had made in the past five years. Trying to remember what had made him feel at home in Forks before his accident, what had seemed beautiful and worth sticking around for when he had no idea what everyone was thinking all the goddamn time. Trying to enjoy the relaxation a trip outside of New York City could offer. Trying to decide if calling his parents and letting them know he was in town would be a wise decision – or if it didn't matter because after tonight, _everyone_ in town would know he was back. He _was_ trying, but just as he would start to relax, he would catch a glimpse that Alice's cheerfulness was forced, as if she knew he could read her mind and was purposefully trying to _not_ dwell on his sour-puss expression, and he would involuntarily tense up again. Even though he noticed how miserable he was acting and how much of an ass he was behaving, he still felt the need to feed and covet his mood.

So, when Edward accidently slammed the car door closed once they had found a parking space and caused Alice to jump in mock surprise, he couldn't anticipate how bad things would get.

She hissed out, quietly, "Edward! I'm nervous already! Could you please _pretend_ you want to be here?" which escaped her mouth in so gentle a fashion that Edward momentarily thought _Whoa… is that even possible, a gentle hiss?_ and wasn't aware of what happened until it was already under way.

Everything around him grew quiet – eerily quiet – and the split-second dim stretched out, as if Edward's subconscious movement to swivel his head in confusion was spliced and edited to become one long, drawn-out slow-motion 180-degree turn of abject horror. All it had taken was one person to hear Alice speak his name and then the gossip had started. The cogs were turning, everyone trying to wrap their heads around the knowledge that _he_, Edward Cullen – youngest former captain of the Forks High School football team who, after surviving an almost laughably routine sports accident, had became one of the town's most talked about social recluses (such potential – wasted!) pitted against what some of them had read about _the_ 'Edward Cullen' who had shot to fame in the New York City underground art world as if all it took were the sale of one painting, overnight, and suddenly his artistic career had been 'made' – was back in Forks.

_This withdrawn demigod has been kind enough to grace Forks High School Class of '97 Ten-Year Reunion with his otherworldly presence_, Edward bitterly thought_, and everyone needs to know, stat._ The thought caused Edward to stop short, the last breath he took in anger constricted within him. He couldn't move, a panic attack rising with the bile in his throat, the flashback of his first day back at school after the accident hovering behind his tightly squeezed eyelids.

_How could I have forgotten this? How the _fuck_ could I have forgotten it would be like this?_

The question that could only survive in hypothetical, racing in repeat through his memories, long and deeply repressed as they were. It was Alice, gripping his shoulders and lightly shaking them, that brought him much-needed air after this suicidal jump into black, empty nothingness. He broke his own daze and glanced down at her.

_Is he okay? What's going on? Was it something I said, something I did? Should I have pushed him to leave Forks as soon as we landed? Should I have been less excited? _She was worried about him, in her own Alice way, by typically blaming herself for his irritable behavior.

It had been five, maybe ten seconds of stillness – Edward still couldn't find a way to speak – but enough time had passed for more people than just Alice to notice the way he had just stopped and gone white in the face. Edward moved his focus upwards, deliberately taking time to expand his peripheral vision – an entirely fruitless effort since anyone could have easily guessed what had happened: those in view of him were staring in open-jawed amazement while the bodies still moving towards the school entrance were failing to surreptitiously glance backwards, giggling and most likely whispering to those in their party who _didn't_ already know his social history. Everyone was thinking so rapidly that, even though Edward couldn't decipher coherent sentences, he still knew one thing: he was fucked. There was no way around it.

He immediately pushed past Alice, making the twenty-foot gap between her and the driver's side door in three strides. But the fumbling of his keys is what did it: that two-second window allowed the rational portion of his brain to start firing one word in quick succession:

_Bella! Bella! Bella!_

Edward had to pause; he couldn't help it. He had been so focused on leaving, on getting the fuck out of Forks without a second's hesitation, on burying this memory with all of the others and never, under any circumstances, returning to the place of its birth that he had, very simply, forgotten why he had come in the first place. Sure, he hadn't factored in the extent of his reaction to which this trip had just displayed, but some part of him had always known it would be difficult. And he had obviously (_in some idiotic fashion yet to be determined_) weighed that difficulty up against the perceived reward.

_Is Bella – some girl I barely even spoke with the whole year I had known her… a girl I had never even_ tried _to contact within the last ten years of my life – worth it? Is a chance encounter with Bella truly worth the pain, humiliation, and anger I've been feeling… am feeling… will continue to feel if I man up and go through with this? _ Edward didn't even have to think twice. _Yes… oh my god yes. Absolutely._

Edward hung his head, defeated, the key to the rental car gripped in his palm, hovering and ready for duty. He straightened up and turned toward Alice before she could hesitantly reach out and try to soothe him. It took all his will power to quiet the roar surrounding him into the dull chatter he was used to hearing, but he couldn't back out – not now, not after what he had already put himself through. He had chosen to come and it was his responsibility to sulk in the corner the whole night just to finish what he had obviously wanted to start.

_I will see Bella or I won't, _he mused. At this point, the outcome was almost too pathetic of a reward. In some respects, Edward didn't even really _care_ if he saw Bella. What was driving him, keeping his feet pressed firmly into the ground was how horribly stupid it would be to give up now, say 'fuck it,' and then hit as many people as possible as he sped out of the parking lot. _But leaving will mean not knowing the outcome of this trip's sole objective… and that means all the effort, the arguing, the sulking, and all the negative memories I've been able to drudge up will be for nothing… absolutely nothing._

Edward sighed, resigned. That thought of failure is what made him turn slowly, a sudden calm surging through his veins and some unknown strength giving him the ability to ignore the deafening thoughts of his pathetic spectators.

_Man up, Cullen! You have never given up on anything in your life. You start something and you finish it, okay? Don't be a fucking pussy now._

He walked swiftly past a stunned Alice, growling an almost intimate "Let's go" under his breath and then steeled his gaze forward, not needing to stare down the people he passed – even though the anger and hatred plainly evident on his face would have shut them up for good.

* * *

Edward knew why Lauren Mallory was smirking up at him.

_She can't be fucking him… there is so way in hell he would want to fuck _that _when I'm sitting right here._

She was confident; Edward had to give her that… but that didn't mean he should ignore the grimace creeping onto his face and the sudden urge to vomit.

"And your name, please?" _Fuck me… even hotter than he was in high school_.

"Cullen. Plus one." _You're here for Bella… you're here for Bella…_

"Cullen… Cullen… Cullen… yes! Edward!" She looked up and smiled seductively, her mind getting progressively sexual as she thought over how best to lure him into her underwear. "You know, no one even expected you to show tonight! Quite the sneaky devil, I see. I bet you'll be stealing all the girl's hearts tonight." She winked. …_and their panties. God, I'm wet just looking at him. I bet he fucks good, too. Much better than Tyler… practically panting whenever he sees me, the creep…_

Lauren had been serenely smiling throughout the entire exchange, her attempts at seduction only faltering when she realized that Edward had been staring at her in mild disgust for a five full seconds.

"Uh, Edward?" Alice questioned, breaking the silence.

"Yeah… what?" He turned around, a little dazed at the sudden plunge back into high school memories he had no intention of reliving – reunion or not.

"Are we going to go in now?" _I hope he doesn't snap at me! I didn't even do anything wrong!_

Edward wished he could apologize, explain what the fuck was going on - what had been going on for the last week – but took the pause as a chance to look behind him instead. He instantly groaned at the growing line of his gawking peers, and then turned back to Alice, a bit more focused and resigned.

"Yeah, sorry. Come on." He walked in front of her, leading the way into the decked-out gym-auditorium combo, Alice trailing a few feet behind. As soon as they left the foyer, a low buzz began to grow as the news that …_yes!_ _Edward Cullen! _ _Ohmigod! No fucking way!_ _He's really here!… _travelledfrom party to party.

Alice casually stole glances behind her, unsure of and uncomfortable with all of the attention. This was the first time Edward could calm her down without giving away how he knew she was worried. He stopped walking and faced her.

"Stop it, Alice. It's me. I should have warned you but I honestly underestimated the… _reception_ I was going to receive. I'm sorry for dragging you through all of this. I just knew I couldn't face it alone." She looked at him inquisitively, her ministrations stopped. After a moment, she smiled and they resumed walking, Edward frantically searching for an empty table as far away from the already congregated groups while Alice began animatedly chatting to the empty air in front of her. Edward breathed a sign of relief.

_One down…_

He chose the emptiest table and sat down with a huff, immediately closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.

_Just let me get through this. Just let me stay calm and avoid any more drama._

"Oh? You were in class together?" Alice asked.

Edward glanced up. _Who is she talking to?_

"Yeah," the woman answered, "sophomore-year English." Edward looked at her, trying to figure out whom she was and why he couldn't recognize her at all; he _should_ have been embarrassed that she noticed or that she blushed because of it, but his polite shame was gone and she continued speaking as if their silent interchange hadn't occurred. "Not like he would remember me – we didn't talk… a lot. I don't really think a lot of people remember who I am anyway… I should probably be horrified that almost everyone keeps asking Ben where we met but I don't really like anyone here anyway."

_Oh fuck! Angela!_

As if on cue, Angela turned, "Hello, Edward." _I wonder why he's here? He doesn't look very comfortable. I know the only reason _I'm_ here is because Ben really wanted to come… I'm just as happy never being Lauren's fake-friend again._

"Hi, Angela. How are you?"

She let out a small scoff before replying. "It seems we've both been dragged here against our wills. I'm assuming, had Jasper not called you, you wouldn't have even known this existed." She had twirled her hand in a mock gesture behind her, and Edward had to smile at the effort she was making. He suddenly felt very sorry about not keeping in contact with one of Fork's nicer residents.

"This is true. He was really adamant in that rather manipulatively cunning way he's perfected that I show up… but I have no idea why. I think I was guilt-tripped, actually." Alice let out a small giggle, and then clamped her hand over her mouth when she became the focus of Edward and Angela's attention.

"I'm sorry, really. It's just that Edward _never_ does anything without a reason. I mean, he could have known about this for months and only used Jasper as an excuse!"

"Maybe," Angela countered, "but if I remember correctly, something… _happened_ after his accident and it was like he became a different person. I mean, he was still there – he never stopped being Edward – but there was always something a little bit off. Like, someone would say something and he would just get this look on his face, this look of just _hatred_ and then it would be gone the next time I saw him. I have no reason to believe he would want to be here of his own volition… Jasper must have said something, or reminded him of something, and that's why he came, why he's sitting here looking absolutely miserable."

Angela was lost in thought, her mind searching through every significant memory of herself and Edward, trying to find proof of what she had just stated. He couldn't bring himself to remember with her, though, because the fact that she had detected so much, been so accommodating through his mood swings without having a real reason to… it made him feel very ashamed of himself.

He looked toward Alice, who was staring at him. _It's like I don't even know him! It's so weird to think that this Edward, _my_ Edward… that person didn't even exist for so many years. I can see why woman throw themselves at him now… but image his charm on top of his good looks? He was probably fighting them off with a stick…_ Edward had to stop her from imagining him bare-chested while beautiful women groveled at his feet.

"Excuse me," he said, starting to rise just as two strong hands grasped his shoulders and pushed him down into his seat.

_Whoa! What the fuck?_

And then he heard the voice and got a flash of what looked to be a battle in the Crusades.

"Edward." Edward scolded himself, briefly, and then smiled at his memories of Jasper in high school.

Jasper had moved to Washington for college, became a history teacher at Forks High School when he was twenty-four, and been Edward's mentor, and then friend, since they had met and Edward was a fifteen-year-old closet academic just at home in football pads as he was in a classroom. Although Jasper had spent the second half of his thirty-six years in the Pacific Northwest, he still retained a slight Texas drawl, and, because of this, his voice was unmistakable. It had been mildly unpleasant, to say the least, for Edward when he inadvertently intercepted all the sexual thoughts of his classmates his senior year of high school – those of which were aimed at Jasper and _very_ graphically explicit.

"Jasper." The reply earned Edward a swift slap on the back.

"Good! So I haven't been forgotten so easily." Jasper deftly pulled out the chair between Edward and Alice, angling himself towards Edward.

"I just spoke to you last week!" Edward retorted. _Why is Jasper charging a battlefield… with a bayonet?_

Jasper paused, a stern look on his face. Then, just as suddenly, he broke out in a grin. "Ha! You're so easy to play with, Edward. You should really work on that."

"What?" _... Revolutionary War…_

"Stop being so gullible." He paused, concerned. "You do know what that means, right?"

Edward was not in the mood for this. "Yes, Jasper. I am perfectly aware of what 'gullible' means."

"Really? 'Cause you're fooling me right now."

Before Edward could respond, however, Alice distracted him.

_Who is this? No one ever messes with Edward! And he's cute, too!_ She giggled at her own admission, prompting Jasper to turn and smile.

"Edward!" he admonished. "Why have I not been introduced to your lady-friend? Wait! Is this the lovely and amazing _Alice_?" Alice nodded, her giggling replaced by a fervent blush threatening its way up her neck. Jasper quickly looked over his shoulder, winked at Edward, and then swiftly grabbed Alice's free hand, bringing it to his mouth and holding it there.

"Ah, mon cher! The pleasure is all mine!" _You are the Cleopatra to my Alexander… the Juliet to my Romeo…_ Jasper finished the introduction with a showy kiss before placing Alice's hand into her lap. Edward stared at the spectacle slightly nauseated, Angela's obvious delight at this sign of chivalry and romanticism only adding to his discomfort.

_I can't take much more of this lovey-dovey shit, _he mused, before abruptly standing up. "I need a drink," he said, more to himself than anyone at the table. _A strong, stiff fucking drink that makes me forget where I am and why I came here._

The walk to the makeshift bar was fraught by intervals of gossip and then verbal silence as Edward passed his way through the tables. He trained his gaze on the wall behind the bartender, not bothering to try and tune out what people were furiously whispering about him. He was bombarded with images of how they had perceived and then remembered his behavior in high school – both before and after his accident – and it was taking too much effort to block them out.

_Might as well kick myself while I'm down, right?_ he joked, letting the frequencies overlap.

_Bow chicka wow wow… come to mama…_

_His dick can't be that big. Half the sluts who talk about it haven't even seen it let alone fucked him…_

_Please, God, if you give me anything, please let it be Edward Cullen…_

_What a fucking ass! You can't ignore your entire senior class for ten years and then suddenly waltz through the front doors and have every girl throwing herself at you… oh wait, you can if you're Edward Cullen… ass…_

_I hope he's dying. I hope he came back because he contracted some seriously fucked up shit and is going to die…_

_Dude! I swear to mother fucking God Lauren was going to let me fuck her up the ass later and this kid comes in and fucks everything up…_

_GO HOME, CULLEN…_

_Sigh… still so handsome. Wait… who was that girl he always hung around with senior year? The plain one everyone thought was a mute?_ Edward jerked his head to the side, focusing on the woman's thoughts more closely, which only made her falter under his gaze. _Ohmigod. Ohmigod. He's looking at me. Fuck! What should I do? Wave? Smile? Pretend he's not looking? Fuck! I'm not even wearing my sexy panties!_

But Edward had already moved on, distracted by someone unabashedly staring him down.

_I know you see me, Edward. Just look at me. Look at me long and hard and remember where you've seen my face._ She saw the recognition in his eyes, even from her distance of twenty feet in the dimly lit room. _Good, you motherfucker._

Because Edward had been stopped to focus on the woman thinking of Bella, the shrill tone of the new voice sent him pitching forward. He honestly didn't care how much his current actions were going to be critiqued and judged the rest of the evening; you had to be stupid to pick fight over flight when it came to Rosalie.

"Edward!" she sang, "Oh, Edward! I know you see me! Come say 'hi' to your old girlfriend!" He had made it to the bar but had effectively trapped himself between the wall and tables full of people, all tense and ready for the cage fight about to commence; there was no other choice but to turn around.

_I could run, right? I might be able to out-run her… fuck, no. She would fucking hunt me down, I know it. She would come and find me and then weasel whatever it is she wants out of me, just like she used to do when we were dating. Okay… I could walk into the hallway and we would be alone… no, fuck, not alone with her. That leaves… here, in front of all these people? At least I'm in front of a group, right? They might be able to help me…_

"Hello, Edward," Rosalie hissed into his ear as she went in for a forced hug Edward did not return. _I should have expected you to come back_. "Wouldn't it be more comfortable if we reminisced in a more _intimate_ location?" _Where I can grind my stiletto into your dick. _Edward paused, actually frightened of how much she thought she could get away with.

"No, Rosalie. Whatever you have to say you can say here, in front of everyone."

_Like I really want to _say_ anything to you at all._ "You know, Edward," she continued, "I was very hurt when you broke up with me." _Right, _he scoffed_, real hurt, Rose._ "I thought that I had always been there for you, always been the loving, doting girlfriend your parents wanted me to be, and the kinky, dirty slut you always liked me to be." Edward stared at her. _Kinky and dirty slut? What the fuck is she talking about?_ "And then your accident happened and I just cried and cried for days! No one even knew if you were going to make it and so I visited you when I could and then you came back to school and broke up with me!" She was working herself up now, backing Edward into the wall. "Do you know what that did to me? What that did to my social career? The head cheerleader being dumped by the captain of the football team – and for that quiet art bitch no less!"

"Do not talk about Bella that way," he growled. _You fucking bitch._

"Oooh! Our little lover-boy has a weakness!" Rosalie sneered. Her eyes darkening, "I knew you were sleeping with her. There was no other explanation as to why _I_, Rosalie Hale, would have been thrown away so quickly. I want you to apologize." Edward blanched, confused.

"You want me to do _what?_ Apologize for breaking up with you? You know, people don't even need a reason to do that – you're lucky I even gave you one. Excuse me, but I believe this conversation is over." He started to walk back towards his table before Rosalie expertly grabbed his arm and spun him around to face her.

"No, Edward, you're not going to fuck this up. I'm trying to give you a chance, okay? You're a better fuck than Emmett, I'll give you that, but no one – not even Edward fucking Cullen – treats me with the kind of behavior that you have just displayed." She jutted out her hips and crossed her arms. _Okay, maybe I'll forgive you if you fuck me in the girl's locker room like Emmett used to. When was that – ninth grade? Mmmm… right before precious little Eddie decided to be a man and lose his virginity… God! I can't believe he would choose to fuck her over me! She's not even pretty. I bet she did all that nasty shit Emmett always wants me to try…_ "Hello! Edward! Anybody in there?" She was annoyed, waving her hands in front of his face.

Edward glanced up at her, the confusion on his face quickly turning into a vile hatred. _I should have known this. I should have realized it sooner, should have at least seen it coming! God, I can be so fucking dense sometimes._

"Listen, Rosalie," he spat out. "Even if you _deserved_ an apology from me – which, by the way, you don't – you wouldn't be getting one because you're a pathetic excuse for a human being and I'm glad I broke up with you eleven years ago. Eleven years, Rose! You would think someone would be over their high school boyfriend by now… but of course you're not because you're a pathetic, wretched, vile person. I fucking hope you get what's coming to you." He turned quickly and strode back through the tables, the gossip that had previously filled the air replaced with cheers for his victory over 'the skank bitch' – even Edward had to agree, it was a pretty accurate nickname.

"Edward Cullen! Don't you fucking walk away from me! Edward!" she screamed, causing whoever _hadn't_ been paying attention to their interchange to glance up in surprise. Before she could close the widening gap between them, however, Emmett was behind her, pinning her flailing arms to her side, trying to calm the anger that was boiling to the surface and _very_ aroused.

Edward reached the hall doors closest to Alice, Jasper, and Angela, ready to break them off their hinges if need be. _I just need to get the fuck out of here before I punch somebody in the face_. Jasper suddenly appeared, blocking the doors. _Move, Jasper! Fucking move! I don't want to hurt you but I will if you don't get out of my mother fucking way…_

"Jasper…" Edward whined, his patience thin and strained. It was taking all the energy he had to control himself, an act that ironically made it terribly difficult to decipher coherent thoughts from anyone. "I can't talk to you right now, okay? Just leave me alone."

"Edward, I'm not here to stop you. I'm just asking you to take my keys and sit in my office until your ready to come back, okay? Just please don't leave." His eyes were pleading with Edward and Edward suddenly felt very calm and rational, like this request was the most logical solution to the problem at hand.

"Fine," he barked. Jasper dropped the keys in Edward's outstretched hand and watched Edward walk quickly down the hallway after the door had swung shut. Once Edward's retreating form had turned out of sight, he walked to a woman leaning against the wall.

"Bella," he implored, "you need to go to my office and talk him down, alright? You're the only one he'll listen to." She looked at him inquisitively before speaking.

"M-me?"

"Please, Bella. Just trust me." After another silent exchange, she relented and quietly exited the room, following Edward's path at a more hesitant pace. Jasper returned to the table, trying his best to lighten the mood.

"So, ever see so much drama in your life, Alice?"

"No," she laughed, a bit relieved, "but I probably should have expected it. Edward always attracts the craziest women."


	4. Eros, Reawakened

Edward was fuming. And pacing. Fuming and pacing and trying hard to not punch the concrete wall as he violently clenched and unclenched his fists. He knew that he wasn't helping the situation by the small stabs of pain he felt as his fingernails dug into his palms, but he also knew that sending clenched fists into a wall of painted concrete would probably break his hands, making this awful night harder to forget whenever he had to stare at his useless fingers and realize he would probably never be able to paint as well as he could before he stupidly took out his frustrations on a wall made of stone.

"Fuck!" Edward screamed. "Just fucking great! You're stuck here in this suffocating shithole Jasper calls an office when he's out there, practically salivating at Alice… Is that why he called me? Did he know Rosalie would be here, would pull that shit and force me to need a place to vent so he could have Alice all for himself? Why he fucking cornered me in the gym and begged me not to leave?"

He stood still, breathing hard, before the wheels in his brain started rationally turning and the anger he was inflicting upon himself for getting into this situation in the first place erupted in a vicious fury against Jasper – _smug fucking Jasper_ – and how juvenile he had felt since arriving on campus. Edward turned toward the desk and brought his leg swiftly behind him, poised and ready to give the messy hunk of metal a smack down – _just once, for good measure… okay, maybe twice… no, no… three times and then I'm done_ – before a wave of guilt washed over him. His limbs immediately hung loose, defeated.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," Edward growled under his breath.

_It's your fucking fault, jackass! Jasper might have called you but did he make you get on a plane and come here? Did he force you to show up at the reunion? Maybe he just wanted to see you and knew you wouldn't come any other way!_

_Whatever_, he countered. _I'm done. I'm going back into the gym and I'm telling Alice I'm leaving. If she wants to come, fine. If she doesn't, fine. _He paused, his chest the only thing moving as he tried to calm himself down. _I'm fucking done with this shit, once and for all. As much as I _think_ I love Bella, she is not worth this, not by a long shot_.

Edward swiftly strode to the door before pausing, unsure. _Was that a knock?_ The pause lengthened and then he heard it – _no, that was definitely a knock_ – more pronounced, insistent, before it was followed by a meek "Edward?"

_What the fuck? Why am I hearing a knock but no voices? _"Oh fuck," he whispered. _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. What do I do? What do I do? FUCK!_

"Edward?" she continued. "Are you in there? It's me, Bella… from art class, remember? Jasper asked me to come down here and you know he'll make a big fuss if I go back to the gym alo–" Edward whipped the door open, catching Bella on her last syllable. "Um, hi" she stammered, a blush creeping it's way down her neck and into the modest 'v' of her neckline. Edward followed with his eyes before lingering at the start of her cleavage, causing the blush to deepen; he smiled involuntarily before Bella broke his concentration. "Edward?"

"Yeah, uh, hi" he forced out. _God, you're so obvious. And a loser. I thought you should know that. _Edward began to rub the back of his neck automatically, trying to will his inner monologue to either quiet down or shut up completely; his ironic thought that only having _one_ chattering mind was a nice problem to have lengthening the stare he was very obviously still focusing on Bella's chest. _DUDE! Eyes up, fucker! Eyes up!_

Her polite throat clearing caused Edward's eyes to snap up and meet hers, the hesitant, searching chocolate only visible for a moment before she immediately lowered her head at his intense concentration. Edward's ministrations stopped for a second and it took him a couple of moments before he realized that, due to the subconscious battle he was having with his own limbs to stop them from reaching towards her and gently, softly lifting her head like he'd always wanted to, they had been standing there, staring at each other and the floor, for a good, solid minute.

_Can we say awkward? Maybe just a little? Maybe we should throw her across the desk, rip off her clothes, and fuck her to the high heavens? Give her a proper ten-year greeting?_

_Please_, he countered, _if you have ever listened to me… please keep it under control down there! Nothing like a hard on and a violent display of pent-up aggressive sexual attraction to show someone how much they _shouldn't_ be with you, Jesus!_

Edward lowered the hand gripped onto his neck and braced the doorframe instead, smirking for just a moment before he cleared his throat and became seventeen again.

"So… um… Jasper sent you here?" _Shit! The Ron Burgundy effect is not helping!_ "I didn't even think you'd be here, you know, because it's not even your reunion. Not that I didn't want to see you, or really think that I'd see you because, you know, you didn't graduate with any of us but, yeah, um, it's just weird seeing you here, at the reunion, in front of me, and, uh, it's just nice and I'm glad and, yeah, do you want to come in?" _Yup, there it is again. Rambling in front of Bella and sounding like a pubescent boy… real nice, Edward… real effective way to impress the ladies._

Bella looked up at him, tilting her head like his suggestion was a serious dilemma and needed a proper chewing over. Edward slumped against the door frame, his neck-rubbing forgotten _for more important problems like our ego… which has shrunk your balls and is slipping into… no, wait, it's gone._ He grimaced involuntarily, which only caused Bella to blush harder. _Dude! Fucking shut up!_

Her meek answer seemed to find home in the floor. "Yeah, uh, I'd like that." Edward couldn't help himself and grinned widely, catching the corner of Bella's eye; she looked up, shyly, before a small grin took shape.

_Well, the change in your moods is rather violent._

_I will kill you if you do not shut up._

Edward watched her pass him and walk into Jasper's office unabashedly, the way her hips swayed and how her long, thick curls gently slapped against her back as she embarrassingly circled the room before realizing there was no real place to sit that would suit their immediate needs. _Jasper doesn't care about his things, does he? I mean, he wouldn't mind if I threw everything on the floor to better… attune to Bella, right?_ Edward smirked at the thought and all but sauntered over to an empty portion of the wall, leaning back against it and then turning towards the close bookshelf as Bella perched on the windowsill behind Jasper's desk.

"So, how come you're here?" he started. _Keep it casual_. "You didn't come with someone, did you?" _Shit… that wasn't supposed to come out yet_.

"No," she answered, shaking her head. _Regretfully?_ "I work here, as an art teacher, and I volunteered to chaperone before I heard that you were coming…" the thought trailing off as Edward's mind went into fangirl overdrive. _Holy shit! Oh my God! Holy shit! Oh my God!_ "I mean, not like I sat around and waited for you to come back here…" _Oh fuck. Holy shit. My balls are about to explode. _"…everyone sort of heard that you were thinking about coming and it certainly created quite the buzz. It's not really something I could have avoided and then I thought, 'Shit, what if he thinks that I showed up _because_ of him?' because I knew that some people would do that…" _Your blush is priceless, Bella. Please, marry me, right now_. "…and, uh, I didn't want to feed your ego. You know, 'big-time artist Edward Cullen coming back to Forks High' even though that's not who I knew you as and oh my God, I'm rambling. I'm sorry."

She looked at him once before her chin collided with her chest and the blush that had been steadily growing as her speech wore on burst forth and covered whatever skin wasn't already clothed in fabric. Edward looked on a bit dazed. The freedom he felt at finally being able to rest the mental deflection he hadn't quite mastered but still left him exhausted… the physical _and probably quite noticeable_ reaction his body was providing leaving him a bit light headed as a good portion of his blood headed south… the fact that all he had wanted to do since opening the door was touch her, caress her, show her how much she had meant to him for the past eleven years… he was a bit blown away, honestly.

_Dude… worth it. So fucking worth it…_

_God that sweater is torture. Her tits are fantastic and I can sort of see her bra…_

_Do it! Just kiss her you fucking idiot!_

Edward shook his head and used his shoulder to push himself off the wall. _Now or never, _he thought, pumping himself up. _I have to do this. I have to see if she feels the same way._ Two steps and he was in front of her, practically straddling her thin frame with the sexual tension he was emanating within the foot of space that divided them. His right arm stretched out before he could stop himself and then he was feeling this shock traveling through his body as if he'd been sitting out in the summer sun and then, all of a sudden, he was forced to uncontrollably shake because this burst of cold went through his body and down his spine and then inextricably disappeared.

He withdrew the hand that had attached itself to the side of Bella's face and she looked up, startled, as Edward resumed his nervous habit of furiously rubbing that back of his neck. _Was she leaning in to that?_ he thought wistfully. _Is there any way she _couldn't_ have felt that?_

"I'm, uh, glad you're here. Either way," he said to her crotch. "I'm glad you don't see me as 'the Edward Cullen,' whatever that even fucking means." He looked up at her and he _almost_ smiled at her dazed expression. "Most of the time, I don't even consider myself a professional artist… just some chump getting his kicks with paint." Edward chuckled, causing Bella to meet his gaze and crack a smile.

"Yeah, well," she countered, "I do what I can for my former partner in crime." Her joke caused them both to smile wide before their postures visibly relaxed and Edward's hand retreated from his neck. He leaned against the back of Jasper's chair and Bella leaned back against the window, her hands pressed into the sill.

"So, you're the art teacher here?" She nodded vigorously.

"I never thought I'd ever _want_ to come back to high school but the kids that really get into art, really make it a part of their life… those are the kids I love teaching and they all just happened to be in high school." Edward smiled again, as if simply being around Bella caused his lips to find a new default position. "And bratty kids throwing paint around at each other… really not my cup of tea." Edward was smiling and nodding his head so automatically that he hadn't realized Bella had stopped talking. "So, uh… you like it in New York City? Better art Mecca than rainy, dismal Forks?"

"What?" Edward blushed, embarrassed. "Oh, yeah, it's great, you know. Farthest place I could escape to while still making it seem like it was better for my career." _Fuck. Shit. Didn't mean to say that._ He tried to retrace his steps, hand firmly in place. "New York's not, like, that drastically different from Forks, weather wise. Not that I really minded the rain so much." _Not with you to keep me visually occupied, anyway._ Bella looked up then, imploring him with her eyes that were no longer so hesitant, as if she had heard what he had been thinking. Edward shifted a bit uncomfortably. "I just needed a change, you know? I needed someplace foreign, someplace I could lose myself, where I could just exist as this quiet art student and _not_ a social enigma that everyone was intent on 'figuring out' and all of that bullshit." He paused, staring at her quite openly and his hand dropped. "I needed to start over," Edward continued, his voice just above a whisper. "With you, in that art room… that was bliss for me. It kept me sane that entire year, even if I never told you. And as much as I wanted to steal you away and bottle you up… I knew I could never find that peace in Forks, or even Washington, for that matter. I needed to go somewhere where no one knew what had happened." _You understand that, right? You understand how much it pained me to leave you? How much you saved me?_

Edward and Bella stared at one another, the stagnant air surrounding them almost pulsing with the tension his words had created. Her eyes shifted and then the contact was lost and Bella was blushing again, stumbling both in words and in movement. She abruptly sat up straight and then pushed herself off the ledge before Edward stood up and blocked her pathway to the door with his leg, his right arm immediately ghosting across her chin. He unquestionably noticed that she leaned into his touch this time, even as her hands clamped tight against her body as if she wanted to block him out and forcibly rebel against her body's willing response.

"Bella," he breathed out, the force of his stare cementing her to the spot.

"Edward, I-I can't." She blushed but wouldn't _or couldn't?_ look at him.

"Bella," Edward responded, "I know that I haven't seen you in ten years and I know that we didn't even talk that much in high school, but I want to get to know you." _And I know that you feel this._ "I've never felt as calm, as sane" _as _insane_ as that makes me sound (and it does make you sound insane, just so you know)_ "as I do right now, with you." He swallowed and started moving the fingertips that had strayed to the hollow behind her ear across her jaw line to gently coerce her to face him; the sigh and look of contentment on Bella's face (as well as the loosening of the grip she had on herself) didn't escape him.

"Bella." She looked up as her hands fell down to her side. "Bella… just one date, okay? That's all I'm asking for. If it doesn't work, fine, I'll get on a plane and we'll never have to see each other again." Edward smiled at her smile. "But I've been kicking myself every day for the last ten years and now that I _know_ what I've been missing, I can't let you go again." His stare seemed to intensify before Bella carefully covered his hand with her own and removed it from her face.

"Edward, that's not a good idea." Her eyes drifted to the floor again and she started chewing furiously on her bottom lip.

"What?" he blanched. _Why don't I believe you? _"What do you mean 'that's not a good idea'?" She was still chewing her lip but looked at him imploringly, standing up straighter and walking backwards towards the door. _This is when I wish I could read your fucking mind!_

"It's just– it's not in either of our best interests to get involved." Bella turned then, and purposefully walked towards the door. Edward caught her as she was about to walk through it, grabbing onto her wrist to spin her around.

"That doesn't even make any sense, Bella!" _What the fuck are you talking about?_ She just stood there, biting her lip but not making any movement to leave him. Finally, she looked up.

"Edward, I-I just can't walk into this knowing–"

"But you don't know anything!" _The _one_ time I could actually learn something by reading someone's mind… and I can't. Fucking perfect._ Bella looked at him and then her eyes turned a second before her body did and she was quickly walking down the hallway, away from him. _Except this time it's not me who's walking away_, Edward thought bitterly.

His last ditch effort of "Bella!" caused somewhat of an echo in the empty hallway, but the way she embraced herself (_to force something in or keep something out_? Edward wondered) and the sound of her shoes retreating were her only response.

Edward slumped against the open door frame, not even reveling in the silence that surrounded him.

* * *

Edward had watched Bella walk away and it only occurred to him after a slightly oppressive silence had become almost suffocating that he probably should have followed her. He should have hesitated for one second – _one second being enough time to realize I shouldn't even be thinking about this_ – and ran after her down the high school hallways as if this was some movie and he needed her to know how much he loved her, how much he _had_ loved her, how much he had kicked himself for not telling her sooner. But for the first time in his life, Edward felt out of control and had nothing to say. Nothing sounded better than staggering into a locker, pummeling it as long as he could stand, and then…

_Well, what?_

"_In moods of heavy despondency,"_ he mused, _"one feels as if it would be delightful to sink down in some quiet spot, and lie there forever..."_

_Right… because that would mean you actually _had_ sex with Bella, however morally corrupt and unfit the act would render you as minister._

"_At such times, death is too much of an event to be wished for," _he continued, ignoring the _festering sack of shit_ voice in his head.

_You are not Arthur Dimmesdale! You are Edward fucking Cullen! You don't even know her, how the fuck can you be in love with her?_

Edward breathed heavily through his teeth and tried not to cry.

_Oh my fucking shit… you're not crying, are you? You're not _actually_ crying about this?_

And then Edward snapped. _Shut it. You fucking got me into this mess and I would certainly appreciate a little fucking quiet. I don't know if I love her, okay? I don't fucking know and I would like to commiserate in peace, you fuck face! _

After several minutes steeling his nerves, Edward straightened up and silently walked back into the reunion, slumped into his previous chair, and banged his head on the table.

Angela had to clear her throat inconspicuously (_I still heard that_, Edward thought glumly) before Jasper and Alice stopped flirting long enough to notice the abrupt change in his mood.

Jasper looked at him quietly before shaking his head and muttering a "Shit, dude" and slapping him affectionately on the back. Alice took a sharp intake of breath and exchanged looks with Jasper, who gave an almost infinitesimal nod and she swallowed whatever words lay on her tongue.

_Oh, Edward_, she thought. _I've never, ever even _seen_ him like this! And I didn't even know who this Bella girl was before Jasper told me! I've been in my own little world the whole night and now he's just miserable…_

_I knew it_, Angela butt in. _I knew he felt something for her. Whenever I saw them together – which wasn't many times, I'll admit – but still, just the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the entire room… I wonder if he even knew it himself…_

_Fuck, I shouldn't have asked him to come… I just thought, after all these years… she would have finally admitted to herself that he's the only one she's ever wanted…_

_FUCK! _Edward screamed, pressing his fingers deep into his forehead and grinding his teeth, trying to block their pity out as hard as he was trying to lock his rage and frustration in, although neither seemed to be working that effectively. He finally placed his palms on the table and faced all three of their worried stares in defeat.

"Alice," he paused, almost dazed, and then focused again. "Alice, I'm going back to the hotel. I can't be here right now. I just have to… think things through and I can't be around these people anymore." He turned towards Jasper, "Can you drive her back, Jazz? I know she'll never admit this, but she doesn't want to leave yet and I know I'm rotten company anyway."

Jasper looked towards Alice, a small, but noticeable, shocked expression on her face erasing into a slight cough and tentative blush when she realized he was looking at her. She smiled and jumped up, caging Edward into a bear hug someone her size shouldn't be able to produce.

"Oh, Edward!" she cried. "I'm so sorry you feel so shitty about this. I'll never pressure you into anything again, okay?" Edward grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away as gently as he could, bending his head to reach her level.

"Alice, you have to understand something, okay? You didn't force me into anything. If anyone did any forcing, it was me… dragging you into this infernal world I fondly remember as high school."

"Shut up, Edward." Edward and Alice looked at Jasper, who wore a somber expression on his face. "_I'm_ the one who got you into this mess. I knew she was going to be here… I just always thought there was something there… I'm sorry for drudging up past feelings, overstepping my welcome." Edward punched him in the shoulder, and then grabbed Jasper for a long-overdue hug.

"Dude, shut the fuck up. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. Don't ever forget that." Edward let go of Jasper and grasped his, as well as Alice's, shoulder. "Now," he continued, "I expect Alice back no earlier than, oh… three? Angela, is that too early?" Angela smiled and then laughed as Alice and Jasper blushed. "On second thought, Alice, I do not expect you back before nine tomorrow morning, all right? I should hope you'd be wearing the same outfit, too." He lifted one eyebrow at Jasper as Alice shook out of her daze.

"Edward!" Alice admonished. _Embarrassing me like that in front of Jasper! I mean, I was planning on it, but still!_

_Damn these kids grow up fast, _Jasper thought before turning his mind over to possible scenarios involving Alice and how best to rip off her clothing.

Edward shook his head, chuckled, and turned towards the entrance, shooting a goodbye to Angela over his shoulder before leaving the gym and escaping into the night air.

* * *

Bella had quickly escaped Edward's stare before she fell, practically still running, into the nearest women's restroom door, leaning against the sink while trying to steady her breathing.

_Bad idea. Holy shit was that a bad fucking idea_.

_But you still did it. You can't deny that there is nothing you wanted to do more in that moment than jump his fucking bones._

_Yes, and I also know that would have been the worst thing I _could_ have done! You know just as well as I do how everything works out! I can't do that to myself. I can't knowingly walk into a situation where I get my heart broken, absolutely ripped apart._

_Well, whatever. _One_ date with him wouldn't have done any harm. One date, Bella! You don't fucking get proposed to after the first date. I mean… you do, sometimes, but who honestly says yes…_

Bella shook her head to clear her mind and ran warm water, splashing it on her face and trying to work some color back into her cheeks. She froze as the toilet flushed and Jessica Stanley walked out, pulling her skirt up as much as it could decently go.

_Not now, Jess, not now…_

"Bella!" Jessica cried, before processing the emotion displayed all over Bella's face. "Oh, hun, what happened? It wasn't Mike again, was it? You know that boy, always thinking with this dick…" Bella tuned her out as she began to pick her nails.

"No, it wasn't Mike," she quietly responded as Jessica finished washing her hands and looked towards Bella.

"Oh, well… I know something that will cheer you up! Edward Cullen's here! And I heard from Lauren that he came with this girl who he wasn't even paying attention to the whole night and then he left and she started flirting with Jasper so, you know, they obviously aren't _together_ together." Bella looked at her disdainfully.

"You _heard_ from Lauren? I didn't even know you were friends." Jessica faltered for a second.

"Oh, I mean, were not friends. I was just, you know, eavesdropping a little and I heard her say something to Rosalie Hale – you remember her, Edward's old girlfriend? Anyway, that's good news for you! I know you say you don't even _like_ him but come on, Bella! You practically salivated over him in high school and I know you're not getting laid now and, yes, you always make up some excuse but I know it's because you'd rather be fucking him." She looked at Bella smugly. Bella's eyes darkened before a wave of calm washed over her.

"I saw him, okay! Jasper sent me to calm him down from that fight or whatever he had with Rosalie and he asked me out on a date and I told him no because I do _not_ think of him that way!" Bella huffed, having worked herself into quite a frenzy. Jessica merely crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"He asked you out?" she shrieked. "And you said no? What is wrong with you?" Bella gripped the edge of the sink and spoke to her reflection.

"Jess, you've been my friend since middle school and I love you, honestly, I do. But I know how I feel about Edward and let me just say it's in my best interest if I don't get involved with him, okay?" She turned towards Jessica. "Please just leave it at that." Jessica let her arms drop, walking to the door.

"Fine, but if Edward Cullen ever asked _me_ out, we would _so_ not be having this conversation!" Bella laughed, glad Jessica always knew what to say to cheer her up. "You coming?" Jessica asked, the door half open.

"Yeah," Bella responded. "Just give me a minute. I'll meet you back in the gym." Jessica nodded and Bella waited until the door softly swung shut before speaking to her reflection, giving herself a pep talk.

"Bella! You can do this! You can walk back in there and you can look at him and you can ignore the feeling of your stomach dropping and your breath catching and your knees giving out, okay? You _can_ be strong. It's just one night after ten years. It will end and then he will move on and you will move on and Forks will go back to some boring Podunk town." Bella nodded at herself once, straightened her skirt, and left the bathroom.

Lauren Mallory waited until Bella had left before she dropped her feet off the toilet seat and escaped her confines of the last ten minutes. She smirked at the door and let out a short, malicious laugh. "Rosalie is going to _love_ this."


	5. The Persistence of Memory

**A/N**: _A link to a picture of Edward's running shorts is on my profile._

* * *

Edward left the school and walked directly to his car, somberly opening the driver's side door, falling into the seat, and then promptly gripping the steering wheel while resting his forehead on the horn. As much as he wanted to heed Bella's advice, get the hell out of Forks, and escape to New York City to find himself lost in the bellowing sea of strangers, he would so much as _think_ of her and feel a faint pull on his heart, knowing, deep-down, that he couldn't do it. He couldn't run away this time, he couldn't give up, he couldn't…

_lose her_.

He sighed, slowly lifted his head, and leaned back against the leather, his hands subconsciously gripping the wheel tighter until his knuckles were white with the effort.

_I can't leave her here; I won't lose her, not this time_.

Edward mulled over the idea, a slow smile creeping onto his face. This newly formed plan, still malleable and raw, was just a flimsy wooden skeleton, apt to blow over or fall apart at the slightest disturbance. Edward understood that placing his faith in Bella was a risky endeavor and that he wouldn't be able to brush off his effort in a self-conscious attempt to save himself embarrassment if he failed, or walk into this new situation and laugh off both the compliments and the criticism like he had done for the past five years he had technically been employed as 'an artist.' Bella was not some hobby he used to vent his frustrations and channel his creativity – she was what he needed to survive and the heightened physical manifestations he had felt being so close to her was a testament to his ever existing, yet dormant, feelings – feelings he had denied as whimsical and, on some occasions, quite bothersome. But he couldn't ignore them now, couldn't deny what his subconscious had been trying to tell him since he was seventeen years old.

Bella brought him joy and she caused him pain, but still, she had always been the only thing to sustain him, the only entity he had ever willingly allowed into his life and always, very unwillingly, let go of at the prospect of its absence. He needed her, whether he wanted to admit that or not – whether she wanted to deny that or not – and he wasn't leaving Forks without her.

_Well, at least not without a solid answer_, he corrected._ What does 'it's not in either of our best interests to get involved' even mean?_ he thought bitterly. _Jasper doesn't seem to think she's seeing anyone. Is she moving? Is she dying? Wait… is she gay?_ He shook his head, as if he could physically expel the thought from burrowing deep and causing a tangent.

_What the fuck, gay? I don't think so._

_Well, you never know. I never _did_ see her date anyone senior year._

_Yeah, well, I guess being a lesbian and having a terminal disease are better excuses than a simple 'I'm not interested'? Sometimes, Eddie Boy, you're unfuckingbelievable._

_Jesus! I'm trying to help you out here, too. Unless you can think of a valid, rational reason why everything screams 'I'm interested! Let's fuck!' except her cryptic way of ending the conversation, I am all fucking ears, buddy._

_Whatever, dude. You still need to chill out and take a breather before you start stalking her. There is nothing clearer about someone's disinterest than a lawsuit._

Even if he _had_ thought his plan was a step in the right direction, Edward was grounded with the sudden realization that he didn't have any clue as to what to do next. He didn't want to come off too strong, make it look like she had to agree to a date just so she could further clarify that yes, she was still, and had never been, interested in him _that _way and yet, he didn't want to look like some kind of pathetic sad sack, following her around town just to entertain a severely delusional picture of Bella that solely rested on their brief conversations from high school.

_I need to be correct and solid in my assumptions, right? I can't walk into this without covering all my bases, information wise… I don't want any surprises_.

Edward hated surprises, the grimace and aloof attitude he always wore in such situations arising from the fact that he knew what was going on. Whoever he was with would hear a snippet of a nugget of conversation and that fact would wiggle its way into their brain and fester there, growing and expanding until what they were so sure about was really just a diluted ghost of what was actually said or really wanted. And even if that wasn't the case, which happened very rarely and no longer with anyone but those closest to him (_alright, just Alice_, he sighed), he still had to smile and act surprised, which was extremely hard to do when he had a week or a month to get used to the idea and had thoroughly grown to detest it. He absolutely hated feeling guilty for not exuding a certain level of happiness over an event or a gift he had never really wanted in the first place.

But Alice, at least, hadn't know him in adolescence, hadn't noticed or felt the emotional changes he went through virtually overnight after he had woken up in the hospital and realized he was most definitely a freak. So, Edward really couldn't blame her for trying to make his birthday or some other moot call for celebration a happy day and, although he really wanted to, he couldn't get angry over the fact that she really _wasn't_ trying to 'make him happy like he used to be.' Because, well, she had never known him like he used to be and, therefore, was simply trying to make him _happy_, period.

Which made the dialogue and whirring memories in his head so hard to control and so confusing to decipher. He couldn't read Bella's mind, that's something Edward knew for sure. He had absolutely no way of finding out what she was really thinking about him – tonight, for the last ten years, the first time she saw him – and that bothered him a lot. For the first time since his accident, Edward was walking head first into a Huge Fucking Surprise. He basically knew nothing and it irritated him because he couldn't not know – he couldn't leave Forks and be done with this whole mess. The idea of leaving, and thus forgetting, Bella meant he would have to look back on his life and cut whole chunks of it out because her presence permeated everything; Edward had no idea who he would be without her.

As much as the present Bella – the very real and frustratingly unreadable Bella – seemed at once so similar and yet so different from the Bella he had embedded into his subconscious, Edward knew for a fact that he would not be going back to New York unchanged. If he stopped now, the minimal change he _had_ undergone would gnaw away at his insides, give him a permanent bad mood, disrupt his creativity, and potentially ruin his artistic career. While he could probably live with that fact, he knew that no one else could, or would, really. He would be forced to burden their, as well as his own, guilt, hole himself up somewhere and pine away for all these wasted opportunities…

…_like this one! Right now!_

… and all the constant 'what ifs' and regrets that were sure to follow.

_No_, Edward grimaced. _That sounds terrible_.

And then there was the second option, the one path Edward had shied away from and, now he knew, had only succeeded in prolonging. He would have to pursue Bella, make her realize and understand that there _was no_ Edward without her. As much as she might deny that simple fact, might fight against her losing battle, his last triumph before finally, exhaustingly giving up would be to tell her so she could finally understand just how much she had meant to him, how much he had relied on her without even realizing it.

Edward couldn't foresee a future without Bella in it; there was no use in denying that. He would fight _for_ her, maybe even against her, and this time, he would win.

* * *

Without having any solid, rational plans to implement at 11:30pm, Edward quickly started his car and sped to the Olympic Lodge he and Alice had been staying at, making the usual over-an-hour trip in less than forty minutes as he sped down the one-lane highway, relishing in the fact that he hadn't felt this free in years. He remembered, briefly, how much he had hated his small home town, how incredibly irritated he had become after having to listen to both Forks' residents inner thoughts as well as their more forced verbal cheer. But the escape into city life he'd so desperately pined for and, for the most part, defined himself by was simply no comparison to the purring piece of machinery he now controlled with small, minute caresses; the inexpressible freedom he was beginning to remember; or even the long-forgotten soft place he had merely pushed away and then buried with all the other, more unfortunate, reminders of his past life and how badly he had fucked up.

_I could do this for hours!_ Edward thought, feeling like a giddy teenager driving solo for the first time. He had a vague desire to start screaming "I'm king of the world!" and then thought better of it, grimacing slightly at his very odd turn of behavior and how prone he was becoming to mood swings.

The rest of the drive passed just as joyfully, Edward finding a certain level of peace he had always assumed had been long gone until the familiar road petered out into less trees and more human congestion. It was a Sunday, just past midnight, and Edward had the advantage of the late hour and the start of tomorrow's work week to allow him to expertly sped through the town before reaching the lodge, running through the parking lot and up the three flights of stairs, and then crashing into his door and falling into the dark room a bit triumphantly, feeling the same competitive high siblings feel in the middle of some obtuse game concocted just so someone could win.

He had no reason for the speed with which he had completed his task, but he had always held the irrational fear that, once he had something in his mind to do, he had to get it done before something got in the way and derailed his meticulously laid plans. And, although his plans surrounding Bella weren't even set in stone – let alone written – he didn't want to mess anything up and thus leaned against the wall as his room door swung close and rested his hands on his knees, breathing deeply as if he had been drowning and could finally come up for air.

_Think, Edward. We need a plan to plan this out._

_You need a _plan _to plan something? What the hell is wrong with you?_

_I need to know the best course of action to thoroughly cover all bases concerning the matter of Bella, okay? I just- I want to do this right._

He abruptly stood up and started ripping off his winter clothing as he walked towards his small, mostly empty carry-on. Although Alice had made him change for the reunion, clearly adamant in her refusal to allow him to wear the same exact outfit three days in a row, she hadn't packed _for_ him and thus left his 'obscene and terribly unfashionable' running shorts at home. Edward rarely travelled more than a day's drive away, but he was relieved to realize that his nagging intuition to just pack them already had been right – running had always served as his alone-time and Edward breathed a sigh of relief, happy to know that he was smart enough to bring the resources that would allow him to expel some of his pent-up energy.

He finished undressing, folding his clothes instead of throwing them on the floor to better preserve their visual cleanliness, and, after packing and tucking everything in place, strode to the door and quickly galloped down the stairs until he found the lodge's small fitness room dark and empty.

_Excellent_, he breathed as he passed a sensor and the lights flicked on one after another. He stretched, pausing every few seconds to figure out the last time he'd run over ten miles at one time and then scowled when he was sure it was the half-marathon five years prior. Edward wasn't a fitness freak and, unless otherwise forced, didn't particularly like running on a conveyor belt, staring at the same spot for however long his workouts lasted. He didn't even technically 'work out' as that, according to anyone he listened to, included some type of weight lifting, power grunting, and an overall concern for his body. And, more power to those who did, but Edward really didn't give a shit how sexy, delectable, or fuck-me-hot he seemed to those more concerned with vanity. He ate what he needed to eat for his body to perform at a perfunctory level and he ran five to seven miles two or three times a week because he would probably implode otherwise.

He had long ago accepted the fact that he was 'a runner,' whatever social popularity that did or did not attain within the public consciousness. He ran when he needed to escape himself, which is why, after stretching, he climbed on the lone treadmill, warmed-up his muscles for five minutes, and then bumped the machine's speed up to eight as he settled in for what he hoped would be a solid twelve-mile run.

_Ninety minutes – ninety minutes will not kill me and it will force me to concentrate on Bella_.

He scoffed, snorting a bit with the laughter that bubbled up inside of him. _As if I've been thinking about anything else for the past, oh, I don't know, eleven years?_ He shook his head to clear the thought and, breathing as deeply as he could, settled into the familiar pace his long run would need.

His thoughts quickly whirred to life, centering on how best to implement the one solid aspect of his new itinerary – finding out anything he could about Bella's past ten (or six, depending on where she went to college) years, figuring out how best to approach her, and then asking (or pleading, depending on how negative she initially reacted to him) her to _please! for the love of God! _go on a date with him. Edward didn't initially believe his quasi brainstorming session would be that difficult because, no matter what his problem was, he had always made some headway (whether that be in the complete solution he had been searching for or, in some instances, just a kick in the right direction and a solid idea of how best to tackle what had been troubling him). This time, however, Edward was beyond confused at the absolutely little progress he made concerning his 'Bella Dilemma.' It seemed like every minute detail he could remember, infer, or otherwise make-up caused a new idea to tailspin off, bringing a second wave of confusion, questions, and (what Edward thought to be, at least) an irrational and extremely low sense of self. One part of him would start screaming and jumping up and down, begging to be heard and then, once he had blocked out enough of his subconscious to try and listen to the idea, a second part would immediately swoop in, steal the idea away, and tear it up into little tiny pieces before scattering them maliciously.

He felt disgusted with himself: self-loathing for spending his senior year feeling everything that he had and still, against all his emotional urges, refusing to engage Bella in anything but minimal conversation; inadequacy for behaving like he had against Rosalie's (if he was being honest with himself) very scary confrontation as well as failing to both initiate physical contact with Bella as well as sustain it; and desperation when he continued to muse on how royally fucked up he had made their non-existent relationship.

And then Edward realized he probably would have stayed that way, wading in the cesspool he liked to call his emotional vulnerability, if he hadn't shot a glance to the clock in the tiny congested room and realized it was close to two am, that he was practically gasping for breath, and that his thighs were burning with all the lactic acid pumping its way through his blood stream. He suddenly didn't give a shit how many miles he had run versus how many he had left to go and promptly smacked the stop button, gripped the hand rails, and hopped up on the sides of the treadmill until the belt stopped moving and the dizzy ringing in his ears stopped.

"Fuck," he gasped out, immediately bending over completely to stretch out his worn quadriceps as they were screaming at him to never do that again. Edward silently stretched out his remaining muscles, counting time with the sound of his breathing as he whistled and wheezed the air back into his lungs. Then he shut off the room's lights, quietly closed the door, and trudged his way back up the stairs to his room, not even bothering to undress, shower, or do anything but fall face-first onto his bed before he fell quickly asleep.

He didn't even notice when Alice and Jasper's loud giggling woke up a few light sleepers at seven am as they tried to bring their incessant whispering down to an inside level or when they couldn't control their laughter at Alice's drunken state when it erased her coordination and she fell into hotel walls, doors, and tables. Edward still slept, his breathing labored and his room key haphazardly strewn where it had fallen on the floor, his still-clenched fist enough of a clue to his previous level of exhaustion.

* * *

Edward snorted once and then his whole body jerked, causing him to momentarily forget his reintroduction back into Fork's small, thriving social sphere and his midnight mini marathon. And then the blocked sunlight blinded him, causing him to blink furiously in an attempt to create some type of visual equilibrium, and he realized that his lower body was sore – _very fucking sore_ – and that the room smelled different, that it felt a little claustrophobic, and that the scratchy surface he was lying on had no business calling itself a comforter.

He groaned, rolling over and yawning as he pushed out all his extremities and willed them into a much needed stretching. After cracking a few joints and feeling satisfied with the physical pull that felt uncomfortable as much as it was entirely refreshing, he sat up, looked behind him at the bedside alarm clock and groaned again, this time accompanying the verbal grimace with much hair pulling and neck rubbing.

12:01 and 12 01 blinked in rapid succession until there was one last blink of a colon and it was suddenly 12:02 pm and the minute-long repetition started over again.

_There is no way I am getting out of this one_, Edward thought, worrying how best to defuse Alice's ire while silently jumping for joy when he allowed himself to bask in the legitimate excuse for a flight change.

_Except this time, only one person is leaving Forks and her name is- wait, what the fuck was that?_

Edward looked around him, startled by the obnoxious presence of somebody grunting and loudly snoring. _The receptionist said we had this side to ourselves when we checked in, didn't she? And Alice doesn't snore like that… which means the receptionist was wrong or… Jasper's here_.

Edward chuckled to himself, grinning like a pre-pubescent boy who's just heard two people having sex for the first time, and tip-toed over to their adjoining door, carefully placing his ear flush against the wood, waiting to confirm his suspicions.

_Yup! That bastard will probably sleep through anything with that set of lungs. _He paused, _Shit, Alice must be pretty drunk if she can sleep through that fucking racket_. He smiled again, the cogs turning as he tried to imagine what time they'd come back without getting too graphic about what they had been doing to so thoroughly occupy their time. _Oh, well_, he thought, _I've probably seen enough of them in embarrassingly sexual situations that what I'm probably about to witness can't be all that bad, right?_ Edward grimaced slightly, wondering if he really did want a real life interpretation of what so many had unabashedly given him over the years and then, since it was just Alice and Jasper, he realized he _had_ always been a little curious.

His last thought before quietly turning the knob and throwing open his and Alice's connecting door was, _Might as well get this over with_.

But then the door slammed into the wall, both Alice and Jasper groaned into one another, and Edward stood there, smiling at their fully clothed bodies in much the same positions as how he had found his own only five minutes before. _Rough night?_ _At least Alice won't be so angry with me for missing our flight because someone's gonna have a nasty hangover the rest of the day_.

Remembering how loud noises only made his head pound more, he swiftly walked to the curtains and slowly drew them open, watching humorously as Jasper opened his eyes and laughed at the predicament with which he had been found in and Alice crinkled her face, groaned feverishly, and swatted at the intruding light and Jasper's body, which had begun to softly shake the bed with his stifled laughter.

"Good God my head feels like ass," Alice muttered. Edward immediately started laughing, which only caused Jasper to laugh harder. When Alice turned around to climb off the bed, she noticed Edward for the first time, her growing blush and convoluted and hazy memories of the previous night only adding to the hilarity and embarrassment of her knee-jerk reaction to the wake-up call. "This isn't what it looks like," she croaked out, holding her head and squeezing with her fingertips.

"I know," Edward said as his laughter subsided. "It's just that it's noon and I have a change a plans. I can tell you over lunch if you're up for eating." Alice looked at Edward inquisitively, and then, when she had processed his words, she looked at the clock and fell back on the bed, groaning.

"Yeah," she mumbled, "give me a half an hour or something." Edward smirked again, and walked into his room, Jasper giving him a head nod and an 'I'll call you' motion before the door clicked behind him and Edward walked towards the shower, stripping as he went.

* * *

Lunch with Alice was… _different_. Edward couldn't remember ever being around her when she was this hung-over, and especially not when he was sober enough to appreciate it. While her mannerisms had improved with the hour or so it had taken them to both get dressed and arrive at the small Café Garden in the middle of town, she was still sluggish for someone coming off of a late night and, from what Edward could assume, a shitload of alcohol, and what normal people considered sluggish hugged Alice like a death shroud. It would have been comical, he supposed, if he could think of a way to make her understand just how pathetically funny it was to try and watch her form coherent sentences while her thoughts were as convoluted and as sluggish as if she were trudging through molasses.

Edward decided to be kind and get this conversation over with: the sooner he started talking, the sooner he could drive her to the airport, get her into a four-hour nap, and let her start the most unproductive work-week she would ever have. He cleared his throat, wishing he could just look at her and she would know what he was thinking, no need for fumbling sentences or awkward pauses between two people who had been friends since they were eighteen.

"Um, Alice?" he started. _Best to keep this light, _he thought, outwardly grimacing at the amount of effort it took for her to lift her head, focus her attention in his general vicinity, and concentrate on the fact that he was speaking. "Alice," he paused again. _Should I tell her how much Bella means? Will she even understand that in her state?_ He sighed and continued, "I've decided to stay in Forks." He looked at her, a shocked expression growing and then cementing on her face until she had tilted her head at him inquisitively. Edward's hand went to the back of his neck while he cleared his throat for the second time. "See… Bella means a lot to me. I never realized how _much_," he was gesticulating, dramatically flailing as his own explanation suddenly put things into perspective, "until last night, when I saw her and felt how deeply never seeing her again would affect me." He chanced a glance at Alice, who had resumed drinking her coffee but seemed to still be listening. "And so I need to know how she feels about me before I leave Forks. I can't spend anymore time swimming in regret, wondering 'what ifs' while she's here, living her life, and all that's separating us is me." As soon as he had finished, Edward's hands fell into his lap and he looked at Alice, unsure and vulnerable. _Shit this is difficult!_

After a few tense moments, Alice settled her cup on the table and looked at Edward. Her mind, still swimming with fragments, was of no help to him.

"Do you want me to stay?" The question was so simple that Edward almost laughed in relief.

"You can, but don't let it be for my sake." A flash of Jasper sprang to her mind and she blushed with his obvious insinuation.

The waitress arrived with their food, her gaze lingering on Edward for a second before he looked up and met it, causing the previous fantasy of him and her in the supply closet of the restaurant to dissipate as red tinged her cheeks. Edward turned towards his sandwich as soon as she had turned around and Alice softly spoke into her meal,

"I think I'll go back to New York, if that's okay. I wasn't expecting a longer vacation and there's some things I should take care of if you're going to be away for an indefinite period of time." She looked up at him, as if her statement was more an assumption he was either supposed to confirm or deny. He glanced up and nodded quickly before they both returned to their meals and Edward tried not to seem too obvious when he was focusing on any one conversation; whenever he was caught, a flirty, crooked smile usually caused more blushing and he would look away only to start the process over again.

* * *

After Edward extended their hotel rooms for the night and had booked Alice a mid-morning flight from Seattle to JFK, she nodded in confirmation, closed their adjoining doors, and spent a hour packing before he heard her on the phone; he assumed it was Jasper and turned on the TV to stay out of her thoughts.

The day, as expected, passed listlessly until the grumble of his stomach altered Edward to the fact that it was almost 7:30pm and he had been so bored he had fallen asleep, spread-eagle on the bed, one hand draped above his head while the other was shoved down his pants. He chuckled, despite himself, and then realized how pathetic he must seem. _I agree, _he yawned, _pretty fucking pathetic_. He was just about to knock on Alice's door when he felt something crinkle underfoot and read the note she had written.

_Edward,_

_Jasper's coming by at 5:30a to drive me to the airport. I told him I should ask you first and he said, and I quote, "I don't give a shit. If he cares, he'll thank me for the sleep later." I don't know when you'll get this, but I snuck downstairs to get some dinner and then I went to bed. As you can probably guess from this morning, last night was an… experience and, frankly, I'm exhausted. I'll call you when I land and, if you don't call me with periodic updates, I'm sending Jasper over to spy on you (wherever you end up staying)._

_Make sure this Bella knows how long you've been hers._

_PS. Call Jasper more, he misses you._

_Alice_

Edward chuckled at how she still managed to take care of him even while passed out and then folded the note before looking over the room-service menu and ordering a continental breakfast, banana split on the side. He had explained his less-than orthodox room needs to the woman over the phone – who Edward recognized as the same woman who had checked them in by _her_ memory of him, appropriately rose-tinted and dirty – and he tried to remember how to phone-flirt without letting her hear all the unpleasant snorts and gagging motions he wanted to make at her less-than subtle hints about his travelling companion leaving and his insistence on the standard king room he was currently staying in. When he had finally confirmed that yes, it was okay to keep extending his reservation on a daily basis, Edward hung up the phone and sighed, suddenly weary.

_Was this a bad idea? The more I think about it, the more I wish I could just forget this ever happened._

_But is that what you really want? Would you really be happier leaving with Alice tomorrow, leaving Forks like you've done so many times before… except this time, you won't be able to look back and assume she doesn't hold feelings for you… you'll have to look back and regret every single moment you're not on your way to find out._

Edward stared at the ceiling, annoyed with himself.

_You'll have to call them._

_Shut up._

_They'll hear about it eventually. I'm actually surprised you haven't gotten a call yet, but they're probably just giving you space so you don't bite their heads off again._

_Shut up_, he seethed, subconsciously squinting his eyes and grinding his teeth at the memory of six years prior.

* * *

His older sister Tanya had given birth to her first child, Peter, in February and it was now the middle of May and time for his christening. Edward, having just graduated from college, was home for a couple of months before he was to return to New York and begin living there full-time. He immediately and irrevocably fell in love with his nephew and godson, the little bundle of skin and baby fat filling his heart with such innocent wonder that Edward briefly wondered if he could explode from happiness. While all four Cullens – Edward, Tanya, his mother Esme, and his father Carlisle – were strong-willed people (to Alice he was resolute while Jasper referred to him as being 'fucking stubborn as a mule'), Peter was born into a single-parent household of a twenty-five year old who had discovered her husband was cheating on her in the sixth month of her pregnancy. Needless to say, and although she would probably never admit it, Edward's presence that summer relieved some of her burden and she would often smile at him off-handedly, wondering how he knew how awful she was hurting, and how thankful she was for the reprieve he seemed to selfishly offer from the baby's constant hallmark to her failed seven-year relationship so soon after it had ended.

Esme would watch her son and grandson bonding those short ten weeks and her heart would almost break from happiness. The gurgling, babbling newborn unintentionally and stealthily – even to Edward, she thought – bringing back some of the joy and quiet simplicity her son had lost after his accident. She had never believed the doctors who treated him when they told their family that he was fine, that all he had sustained was a concussion and a couple of bruises that would easily heal and leave no traces of the accident that had caused them. She knew her own son, thank you very much, and this shell of a boy that had woken up from his three-day coma – this was not him, no matter how he tried to hide his pain or how much he struggled with the stone wall he seemed to build, brick by brick, around his emotions and against those he had been close to.

She had looked to Carlisle for answers but all she had ever gotten from him was a resigned shake of his head, the worries between them etching themselves onto his face as he stayed up later and later, scouring medical textbooks, trying to find some kind of answer to the vague symptoms Edward seemed to be exhibiting. Because, of course, Edward had practically shut down and blocked them all out, repeatedly cursing and seething under his breath that he was _fine_ until everyone around him stopped asking and stopped trying to include him in their lives.

She watched her son's passion for life seep through his pours those first ten months and then, in September, something happened. He wasn't back, that was obvious, but he was suddenly throwing himself into his art with violent fervor and, it appeared, his moods had started to become constant instead of slowly deteriorating as the days wore on. For the rest of the school year, their three-person household strayed into a routine that Esme knew should make her stop hoping Edward would magically change, that one day he would come home and things would be different, and that, instead, she should begin to accept that this was what life was like now, that she should try and get used to it or else constantly face disappointment.

So even though that summer started the same as it always did – Edward's mood fouling from whatever high he had experienced in New York until he was back in its stagnant senior-year state – Esme's hope, long dormant but never truly gone, began to germinate and sprung forth from her in waves, infecting Tanya's broken heart and Carlisle's silent resignation. This breathing, toothless, chubby piece of Cullen had done, almost overnight, what three adults had failed to do in five and a half years. Frankly, Esme was stunned, so overjoyed and happy that she felt like crying whenever she merely looked at the relaxed gait of her son's shoulders, the gleam in his eyes that made the jade green almost swimming, the grin he wore constantly and with ease. She didn't ask questions, didn't even implore or invade the personal space Edward always gave to the time he spent with Peter, nor did she take into account how irritable he became the few days he wasn't requested as a babysitter, or how he spent those days quietly seething, away from home.

The night before Edward left for New York was a tense one. He was, as usual, barely eating his food, more focused on Peter's wandering eye and grabby hands than he was with the three other people at the table. He had never told them why he hated coming back home during the summers, nor did he tell them why he loved being around Peter (his thoughts were so inconsequential, so dependent on the way he was emotionally feeling that Edward could finally relax around him and just _be_ as if he were normal again; and Peter, to put the icing on the cake, returned Edward's paternal love immediately and with exuberance) but he constantly _felt_ the breath of fresh air his joy had brought and heard how occupied his family's minds had been with both his current and past behavior, and it was suffocating. He had practically forced Tanya to let him hold Peter that night as a way for him to control himself.

Esme waited until after dessert to say something, when Carlisle and Tanya had retreated to Peter's current room to fix something. Edward heard it coming and gritted his teeth in expectation.

"Edward," she whispered, gripping the hand that didn't cradle Peter in her own. "I'm glad you're back. We've all missed you." She looked at him, the green of her eyes paling in comparison to his own as the already piercing green swirled and darkened with unspoken anger. Her thoughts whirred and she sucked in breath. _Why is he so angry with me? Hasn't he noticed how much he's changed since the accident? How unhappy he's been for the last five years? How quickly that's all dissipated since he's been home?_

"I don't want to talk about it," he gritted through his teeth, gazing at Peter's short breaths instead of at Esme. She began rubbing his hand soothingly and he ripped it from under hers violently.

"Honey, you have to know what we went through? How much pain we'll been living in?" The questions came out pathetically and even Edward could detect the sob she was trying to hold in. He looked at her venomously anyway.

"_I_ have no idea what _you _went through?" he spat, starting to rub circles over Peter's stomach while he hissed at his mother. "I know _exactly_ what you went through because I'm still living it – day after day after fucking day. Do you have any idea what it's been like for me, trapped inside my own body, having absolutely no release?" He looked up at her, and her shocked expression only fueled his anger. He didn't even notice how Carlisle and Tanya had descended the stairs, ceased their conversation, and were staring at the two of them. "I'm not better, okay? I will never be _better_ so you should just fucking get used to it." And then he abruptly stood up, walked quickly to Peter's crib in the adjoining room to deposit his sleeping form, and grabbed his keys before running down the stairs and exiting the house, the start of a motor and faint squealing of tires the last sound of Edward's departure.

* * *

Edward lay on his bed in Port Angeles and rolled over, staring at the wall. He remembered driving down the longest section of Olympic National Forest Road close to his house until he had hit a dead end, getting out of his car, and just laying on his back in the woods, trying to calm himself down while still paying attention to what it felt like to be alone in nature. And then the hazy darkness lifted to reveal a hazy sunrise and he got back in his car, drove home, and immediately started packing. He said a short good bye to Esme and Tanya before he and Carlisle left and then gave his father a stiff hug before he entered the airport and Carlisle drove away. He was lost in the memory of kissing Peter goodbye, relishing in the soft baby skin and clean smell his sleeping godson projected. Only now, he focused on the way he had stayed there with his lips kissing Peter's forehead, the way the world seemed to stop for that moment so he could remember how that innocence had captivated him for the weeks he had been home, the way he had said "Goodbye, baby" quietly, with an air of finality… and he suddenly felt like sobbing at the realization that he had already made his decision in that final moment, made it long before he started declining offers to travel back to Forks, before his family stopped offering, before even their calls became less and less frequent, before they finally stopped reaching out at all.

Edward sat up, furiously wiping his dry eyes in anger as he came to terms with his emotions. _They probably hate me right now_, he thought bitterly, the guilt seeping into his bones at the sudden knowledge that he wouldn't be able to pick Peter out of a crowd if his life depended on it. He had missed so much and fucked up so many times that his chest felt heavy with the burden.

Then somebody knocked on his door and he swung it open, surprising the boy who was waiting. He wordlessly tipped the hotel attendant, brought his food to the bed, and stared at it. After several moments, he turned off the TV, opened all the plates, and ate everything in silence as if he could purge what he had been feeling with each forkful of pancake and each spoonful of ice cream.

At nine o'clock, Edward brushed his teeth, stripped down to his boxers, and climbed into the cold hotel sheets, knowing he didn't deserve anything more than the hours it would take him before he was finally tired enough to fall asleep.

_Now you have to call them. They deserve that much._

Edward rolled over, thinking, rather pitifully, _Just… shut up. For once in your fucking goddamn life, I don't want to hear it_.

Not even the thought of Bella could comfort him as he lay awake and felt himself slowly drift towards unconsciousness.


	6. Making Amends

**A/N**: _A link to a picture of the Cullen house is on my profile._

* * *

Edward awoke the next morning with the beginnings of a headache pulsing away at his temples and the inner corners of his eye sockets taunting him with their dull and constant pain. He walked stiffly towards his third-floor window and tenderly placed his forehead on the cool glass, relishing in the temperature change as much as he was letting himself get sucked into the overcast drizzle that had woken him up. Edward's body and mind felt heavy, all his physical and mental exhaustion from the past few days suddenly making their duel presence known as he struggled to work out why the Pacific Northwest had already seeped into his bones and made him restless with its lack of activity. He wondered, off-handedly, whether he had ever really gotten rid of the perpetual bad mood he had worn like a second-skin after his accident, or if, over his almost decade-long stay in New York, he had merely succeeded in hiding it, gotten so good at pushing it down and ignoring its existence that he sometimes forget why it even occurred.

Edward showered slowly and methodically, lazily washing his hair and body like he was trying to remember a very important fact and the effort it took to think was so great that he had to repeatedly stop what he was doing in order to concentrate. And then the moment would pass and he would shake his head to clear the mental build-up, retuning all his attention to the soap or shampoo until he would stop again and the cycle repeated itself. Edward shut off the water, dried himself off, and got dressed just as slowly, trying to bide himself more time with the simple ministrations of his morning routine while knowing all his extra effort was just a fruitless attempt to keep his mind off the one subject he couldn't stop thinking about.

He had lain awake for hours the night before and then proceeded to wake in fits and starts until he had given up around eight in the morning. As soon as he had relaxed enough to fall into a light slumber, all the thoughts he had inadvertently been focused on would return in his subconscious, tainting his dreams and making up for the six years of guilt he hadn't allowed himself to feel. It wasn't that Edward particularly enjoyed ignoring his family and being adept at pushing them away until they existed at opposite ends of a spectrum, unwilling or unable to reach past the center and mend their broken relationship (of which only one party knew the terms and exact reasons for its demise). In fact, Edward hadn't even realized how fragmented his family life had become until the night before when he had finally acknowledged how subconsciously relentless he had been in driving them away. He would always miss his parents, his sister, and his nephew, but that dull ache in his chest had been silently eating away at his resolve until its shoddy bandage was ripped off in last night's foul attempt at a private regrouping. Now the pain was forefront and center, deafening and obstinate as it ran through every crevice of his body, infecting and taking over everything it passed by.

Edward took almost three-times as long to get himself ready for the day before he gingerly sat on the edge of the bed and gripped his head in his hands, giving in to the physical pain his skull was magnifying as well as the unwanted knowledge of the part he had played in his family's unhappiness. He sat that way, concentrating on his breathing as his lungs expanded with each intake of air, and felt a sordid relief as his body began to relax and he gave into the pain, letting it wash over and drown him. It took all of Edward's remaining self-control to focus on his current situation and not shut the shades, climb back underneath the covers, and spend the day wallowing in self-pity.

_Alright… I have three options. One: call Jasper and make him tell me everything he knows_. Edward shook his head as soon as the thought was fully formed, realizing he was probably not in the best position for that kind of friendly questioning. _Maybe later_, he mused._ I don't think I can deal with him giving me the third-degree right now… which leaves option two: somehow get Bella's number and call her. Fuck_, he moaned, moving his fingers so they rested deep within his hair, _I'm not ready for that, either. The last thing I need is an instant rejection. _Edward clenched his eyes tightly, all the possible scenarios whirring through his head paling in comparison to the most logical. _Number three: call Mom_.

Edward knew calling his mother was probably the last thing he wanted to do while he was supposed to be on vacation and had only come to Forks in order to make his feelings for Bella known: for all he knew, Bella could be as foreign to the Cullen family as pedestrians Edward passed while running in New York City – inconsequential and entirely irrelevant to one's daily life. And even if one of his family members _did_ happen to hear of or know about Bella, the effort it would take Edward to stumble upon that information was much more labor-intensive than the predetermined reward. He hadn't physically seen anyone blood-related in over six years and the last time he had spoken to his mother (the only person who had taken to consistently calling him on his birthday and at Christmas) was almost six months ago. In all regards, picking up the phone and dialing a number he had almost totally forgotten would only create more drama, open more wounds, and make Edward into more of a guilt-ridden shell of his former, half-lived self.

He shouldn't want to do that to himself, shouldn't want to intentionally cause more pain and produce deeper scars because he had been too scared to tell his parents the truth and then too proud to ask for forgiveness. But if Edward's accident had taught him anything, it had given him a stronger resolve to dam his emotions and created a bottomless pit of self-loathing and guilty despair. Edward could have laughed at how trivial he had acted in high school, how petty his pain had been in the face of his current predicament, but he was over such self-induced stunting. (_I made a choice to come back here, didn't I?_) Maybe he had simply been too preoccupied with Bella to realize the consequences he would have to face if his ten-year diluted fantasy failed to play out the way it was supposed to (_like it so perfectly had_, he thought bitterly). Or maybe he just couldn't understand how much he had failed in regards to his emotional well-being and distant personal relationships.

But the fact that he _had_ failed – had failed to grasp Bella as much as he had failed to keep his inner demons from controlling his actions after their six-year hibernation – well, that meant that he couldn't ignore the thoughts that were plaguing him. He had fucked up and he needed to fix what had been broken. He couldn't ignore that there was a problem or shove the remaining pieces away and out of sight because too much had been revealed, too many pieces were missing for Edward to even hope that he could pass as whole. If anything, the debacle that the past few days had granted had only strengthened his resolve to never return to the shallow and smug self-confidence he had projected in New York because all it had done was merely prolong the inevitable. (_I'm still miserable, right?_) All this weekend had proved was how much Edward had been faking his own happiness, how well he had succeeded in tricking himself into believing that all that was missing in his life was Bella, as if suddenly having her would mean a future life devoid of problems and pain, of confusion and disagreement.

Edward couldn't put this off any longer, he couldn't sit around and hope that things would get better because he had ceased trying and, instead, opted to let them run their course. He had to do something about all of his former mistrials. The solution to Bella would come, but not before he made amends to those closest to him; he could only hope they would still be as forgiving.

* * *

Edward opened his phone and scrolled through his contacts until 'Home' was highlighted and staring at him, making him feel uncomfortable and guilty, as if his parents would suddenly materialize in front of him and chastise him for forgetting a phone number he'd called his own for twelve years. Then he shut the phone in annoyance and threw it across the unmade bed, finding that pacing the room was a better deterrent for his anger than sitting on the bed and stewing in it. A cycle started to appear: Edward would furiously walk back and forth in front of the bed, sending quick, furtive glances towards the ominous phone as it all but disappeared within the blanket and sheets, and then he would chew his nails, tug through his hair, and pace some more before slumping onto the bed, reaching for his phone, and almost dialing the number that had started to terrify him until he closed his phone once more and stood up again.

Edward looked like a concerned loved-one waiting in the emergency room for some sort of news, sitting down until the restlessness became unbearable, pacing and gesticulating at anyone that would look at him, jumping at each doctor in white that passed through with a final verdict… except he knew he was over-reacting _and it is just your mother for fucks sake and why are you worrying so much over a simple phone call?_ Edward had only bought himself a cell-phone after he sold his first painting three years prior because Alice and his manager had badgered him and threatened an intervention but, even then, he hardly used it. Either leaving it on so long it simply ran out of battery or turning it off in annoyance and then forgetting to turn it back on for weeks at a time.

He had grown up in a small-town where anything worth visiting was a mere bike ride away and then, when he hit high school, he could always just drive to an older gas station and use the dilapidated pay phone that had stayed in business as long as he had called Forks home. He wasn't used to making the first move and never, now that he realized it, had he ever actually called anyone for something other than in a last-ditch effort. He was used to tucking himself away in his studio or apartment and then waiting for the other party to come and find him when his absence had been duly noted and then worked around. Ostracizing himself _was_ a preemptive strike, letting those that mattered know that 'Edward should not be bothered; he may turn violent,' and only when he was _ready_, when he had sufficiently cut off communication and worked himself down to a calm enough level for cordial interaction, did he come out and expect people to not mention what had happened. Never had he been forced to acknowledge he was angry and frustrated and then also been expected to do something about it. But now that his usual method of problem solving was definitely out of the question (_has been for a long time, buddy_), he had no idea how to move forward. Not only _calling_ his mother, but calling her in the hopes of making amends? The thought made Edward nervous to the point of physical discomfort and he only hated himself more for how much his indecisiveness and pathetic valor were being rubbed in his face and defining the person he was about to become if he couldn't find the strength to pick up his phone and call his damn mother.

_Dude, you're being kind of a pussy right now._

_Fuck off. I didn't think this would be so hard._

_And?_

_And nothing. I don't even know what I would say to her._

_Um, 'I'm sorry' seems to fit this particular situation._

_Oh, like, 'Hey, mom! Sorry I've been such a fucking dickass for the past twelve years. You know, I never did tell you but… guess what? I can read minds! Isn't that so funny! Ha ha! And I only came back to Forks to tell Bella Swan that I'm in love with her because I hadn't seen her since I graduated and then I fucked up and now I think she hates me'? No._

_It never hurts to be honest._

_Really, 'cause I don't think that would work even if I wasn't in such deep shit right now. Dammit! Fuck me with a horse._

_You know, uh, I'm just gonna be over here and, um, you can come find me when you're done with whatever you decide to do._

Edward lay back against the sheets, his phone gripped lightly in his curled fingers. He was breathing deep shallow breaths before he had calmed himself to a point where even tiny, eleven-point font was discernable amid his now pounding headache. He found the number, quickly hit send, and then shoved the phone into his right ear, hiding his clenched eyelids beneath a tense forearm before he could stop himself from hanging up. His breaths were relatively even but he felt queasy, thought he was probably sweating much too hard for such a situation, and was getting confused trying to discern whether the sounds he was hearing were the short rings or the blood as it thwacked and thumped through his ear drum.

A breathless _but too young_ voice answered, and Edward heard a "hello?" at the same time as _whose fucking number is this?_

"Tanya?" he asked, still clenching his eyes closed but now methodically biting his already short fingernails.

"Edward? Jesus Christ." His possible whereabouts and reasons for being there were running through her mind too quickly for him to process and he blurted out the first thing he thought of.

"Yeah, um, is mom home? Call I talk to her?"

"Why?" her voice sneering.

"I just, uh- is she there?"

"No, she's not." She was internally berating him and it only made Edward more nervous. He hesitated, not sure if he really wanted Tanya to know where he was calling from, and then figured it didn't really matter at this point.

"Will she be home later? Can I call back then?" She paused and he heard her sigh.

"You know, Edward, Mom's been through a lot the last six years and I don't think what you need to say is deserving of a phone call, okay?" She paused again and then quickly said, "She's always home by two to walk Peter home from the bus stop" before hanging up. Edward didn't know how she knew he was still in Washington, but the fact that he suddenly had an expected visit with his mother in less than two hours seemed to be the more pressing matter.

He stayed in his room another half hour, still clutching his cell phone and staring at the ceiling, trying to will his thoughts out of existence.

* * *

Edward didn't speed his way West down the 101 this time. First of all, it was daylight and he had a feeling that any type of car going 90 miles per hour would be pretty easy to spot and then pull over – even with the road banked by a lush undergrowth and situated underneath a dense cloud coverage – and second, Edward was in no rush to arrive at his destination. He had left Port Angeles a little after 12:30, stopped at The Blackbird Coffeehouse for coffee and a bite to eat, and then resumed his drive to Forks. It took him about an hour and fifteen minutes to drive to his old house on the Eastern outskirts of town but, when he got there, he merely drove past the dirt road that would lead to his parent's driveway and followed Calawah Way as it turned into Elk Creek Ridge Road and then the longest dead-end track of Olympic National Forest Road, and then he was a good two and a half miles out of his way and surrounded by trees and not much else.

He pulled off to the side of the road, not wanting to be the cause of an accident, however unlikely that might be a little after two o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon, and got out of the car to stretch his limbs and breathe in fresh air and everything he could remember from before he had moved away. The height of the trees reminded him of Wall Street and then he chuckled softly, knowing that a run in Central Park would never come close to the miles he had logged a decade ago, solitary runs where the only thing he heard was the shallowness of his breathing and the wet slap of his trainers with each stride he took.

Edward walked a little ways behind his car, hands gripped behind the crown of his head, and closed his eyes. It was a trick he'd picked up to let more air into his lungs whenever he found himself at the tail-end of pre-season double sessions and was trying to walk off his adolescent exhaustion instead of throwing it up, but this time he just stood silently, gulping in the northwestern air and remembering how much this stretch of road had meant to him once the ground thawed enough for him to start his junior-year habit of twice-weekly runs. He wasn't nearly as strong then, just shy of seventeen and already the talk of the town, and, if he had really been trying to get in shape like he told everyone (already knowing his football career was over), running around the high school's track would have probably been a more effective workout. But Edward remembered, even now, how suffocating school had been for him and how little time he spent around the places and people that reminded him of how much he'd lost and how little a new hobby and more sincere friends could actually replace. So he had started lying, a habit he seemed, ironically, to excel at completely, and convinced his parents not to worry when he would suddenly leave the house and spend forty minutes alone in the woods, running one way and then the other, calming himself down and ripping apart his self-control so that, when he would return to the world of socialization, it would be more tightly coiled and less likely to shatter apart.

Edward would have stayed out there, in the middle of the woods and caught up in one of his only truly pleasant memories, if not for the sudden drizzle that caught him off guard, even if he should have expected it. He quickly jogged to the driver's side door and started the car again, maneuvering a three-point-turn any driving instructor would gloat over and finding his way back home. The ride was quiet and short, the constant drip of rain and whine of his windshield wipers lulling Edward into such a strong car-trance that he almost missed his turn. He pulled up to the house and parked in the driveway, calming his nerves before getting out and walking up the front stairs.

The house wasn't flashy by any means, even though Carlisle made enough money to not only politely request Esme not work but to also have Tanya's and Edward's college funds already paid in full by the time they were respectively sixteen. The family hadn't always lived there, having the land bought and the house built around the time Edward turned ten, but each Cullen had grown attached to the property and continually thought of it as home fiercely enough that it didn't matter when it was built or how long they had lived there. The sleek architectural box looked cold and dreary from the outside because of its right angles, color palette, and floor-to-ceiling windows that often mirrored the rainy weather Forks was accustomed to, but Esme had designed the interior in varying shades of white, which only brightened the feel and reflected its feeling of warmth, as if the sun shown every day instead of only once in a while.

Edward had to pause on the stoop, hesitating in front of the doorbell as a rush of nostalgia caught him off guard and suffocated his other, less pleasant memories of his hometown. Just standing there, in the shadow of his past and amidst a canopy of trees, Edward felt a peace he'd all but forgotten about. He liked to think that the nostalgia was free of guilt but he knew that it wasn't, just a misplaced memory he had pushed down with all the others, this quiet serenity clearly outweighed by the thousands of tiny interactions that had always sandwiched and pushed it away when he needed the energy to focus on something else.

He finally pushed the doorbell, the ding-dong bringing his mind back to the present and to the voices he'd missed before. Edward was in the middle of a simultaneous neck-rub nail-biting session when the door swung open at the same time Esme's eyes widened considerably. She stood like that, one hand to her mouth while her tear ducts sprang to life, and Edward noticed a boy wrapped around her leg, starring up at him with equal parts fascination and concern. Edward was trying to get over the fact that this boy was Peter – although it wasn't hard due to a mop of disheveled hair that look suspiciously like Edward's own, soft and delicate features reminding him of Esme's, and a mix of Tanya's protectiveness as well as Carlisle's way of rationally assessing a situation (the boy was thinking, in that moment: _who is this? why does he look like Momma? why is Nanna crying?_) – trying hard not to look directly at Esme for fear he'd start crying too, and battling Peter in some weird silent competition that he was only aware something had changed when he felt Esme's arms wrap around him and her face against his chest, breathing him in while she chanted silent thank you's and prayers to a God he knew she didn't believe in.

Edward hesitantly wrapped his arms around her and they stood there silently accepting what the other was trying to say: Edward with his apology he didn't know how to voice and Esme with her acceptance of a son she'd thought she had lost forever. It was only Peter's consistent "Nanna! Nanna! Nanna!" and aggressive six-year-old shirt-tugging that brought Esme out of her reverie.

"Oh!" she gasped. "I've just gotten all worked up and carried away!" she joked, laughing slightly and furiously wiping her eyes. "Peter," she started, grabbing the boy's left hand, "this is your uncle Edward – you know, Momma's brother who has been in New York since you were a little baby." Edward looked at Esme, a pained look in his eyes, before Esme broke the contact and shifted her gaze to Peter as she broke their grasp and gently pushed him forward. Edward faced his nephew and smiled, bending over and sticking out his hand for Peter to shake. Peter looked up at Esme in confusion but simply received a warm smile and a gentle nudge in return.

Peter grabbed Edward's hand with his left one and immediately started to pull the older man up the stairs, huffing, "Do you like to draw? Momma says you're a painter in New York? Is that true? Nanna just bought me some paints and they're really cool. I have crayons but do you wanna use them with me? I mean, you're bigger but that doesn't mean that I can't draw good or anything…." Edward looked at Esme's shrinking figure with a bewildered expression on his face, to which he was rewarded a soft giggle and more tears (which Esme's thoughts quickly explained as happy). They made it to the top of the stairs and then Peter pulled him into the kitchen, where Edward saw a mess of art supplies pushed haphazardly around on the table. He was so focused for the next twenty minutes on the way Peter continually chattered, each sentence splitting into tangents until he failed to remember how they connected, and the way Esme vocally hummed while she inwardly thought of him and all the ways her son and grandson were alike, that he didn't pay any attention to the doorbell or why he should think it odd that he only heard three voices instead of four as Esme and the guest entered the kitchen.

"Peter, honey, Bella's here," Esme said quietly. Edward and Peter looked up at the same time except Edward dropped the crayon he'd been holding and stared at Bella while Peter jumped out of his seat and ran into her lower half, tightly squeezing it before grabbing her hand and bringing her over to the table. Bella finally broke her stare with Edward to focus on Peter instead.

"Peter? Could you run up to your room and grab the assignment I asked you to work on and then start working on it while Edward and I talk for a bit?" Peter looked from Bella to Edward, slightly confused at Edward's reaction to Bella, but then merely shrugged his shoulders and scampered away. Bella stood up and quickly strode through the adjoining family room and opened the patio door, causing Edward to glance around and notice that Esme had made herself unnecessarily busy in the kitchen. He grabbed his jacket, shrugged it on, and followed her outside, softly clicking the door shut behind him. He leaned his left shoulder against the side of the house, memorizing the way Bella's face stayed calm while her body betrayed what Edward perceived to be her inner anxiety, and thought that simply watching her movements had to be a victory in itself.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed out, standing to face him with her arms crossed and her brow lowered in concentration.

"I used to live here, Bella," he replied, smiling softly when she huffed at the response.

"I _know_ that, Edward. I meant, what are you doing here, in Forks? The reunion was two days ago; I would have expected you to leave by now." She had momentarily freed her arms to gesticulate around her when mentioning Forks, but her arms returned to their crossed position once she had finished speaking. Edward pushed himself off the wall and slowly walked towards her.

"Bella, I, uh, I made a lot of mistakes, okay? I wasn't the same after my accident and I fucked up way more than I should have in response to it." Bella had walked backwards until she hit the low stonewall and Edward started pacing with his explanation. "I wasn't lying when I said you were vital to my sanity at that time." He stole a glance at her and, noticing the way his words had minutely softened her features, quickly began talking again. "And even though coming back here was probably, at first, one of the worst mistakes I've ever made, seeing you on Sunday and having you, basically, _not_ agree to a date with me just made me think of how many times I've let you slip through my fingers, how many wasted opportunities have been overshadowed by my pride, or guilt, or remorse for a normal life." Edward was staring at the deck as he walked in circles, not even noticing how relaxed Bella was subconsciously becoming and how, if he stopped and let her reach out, they would be touching. "I just realized that I could go back to New York and try to forget about you, try to live a life devoid of anything that could even make me remotely happy or I could stay here and try my hardest to fight for your affections, do everything I could to make you believe that I was being sincere and would give back all the success I've had just to be seventeen again and in that art room with you, experience what I felt and try my best not to take advantage of it." He stopped pacing and hesitantly looked up at her, letting his hand drop from the back of his neck when he realized she was looking at him with a shade of innocent curiosity. They stared at one another for what Edward thought could have been hours by the amount of tranquility Bella inspired in him, but then she cleared her throat and looked down at her shoes.

"Are you staying here, at the house?" she asked quietly.

"No, Port Angeles."

"Oh, will you be there a while?" Bella looked up almost shyly at the question.

"As long as it takes," Edward answered honestly. In all the times he had wished for the ability to read her thoughts or the disappearance of his curse altogether, he knew that watching her blush and wondering what she was thinking would always rule out. She nodded and then looked down again.

"Bella Italia, Friday, 8:00 o'clock? I can make reservations and meet you there."

"Sure," he croaked out. _A date! A motherfucking date with Bella Swan!_

"Okay," she spoke, casting him one last bashful glance before turning around and entering the house. Edward sat down on the stonewall beside him, rested his head in his hands, and waited until he could control his smile before following her inside. Esme gave him a wink and he quietly walked up to the third floor and into his old room before he thought about where he was headed. He knew that it had always been more prudent that Esme and Carlisle convert the space to a guest bedroom when they had figured out he wasn't coming back, but he couldn't ignore the pang of loneliness he felt in the pit of his stomach when he realized that it didn't feel like his own anymore. There were crayon and marker drawings taped up to the white walls haphazardly and various toys shoved halfway under the bed and on the mostly empty shelf space, giving Edward a clue that this had been turned into Peter's home away from home. The thought made him smile for a moment, and he relished in the idea that Peter was making the house part of his childhood just as much as he had almost twenty years ago.

But then Edward realized how little the room actually looked like the space it had once been and he had to sit down with the thought that it would never be that place again, his own personal sanctuary in the middle of a northwestern forest, his two-walled fortress that, in its prime, he would enter and find some semblance of peace against a people and place he'd been forced to ignore and despise just so he could survive without running away in absolute frustration. He shifted from the edge of Peter's bed so that he could comfortably lay back and tried to focus on the way the voices a floor below seemed to come to him in starts and bursts, how time slowed down to a crawl, why the rain against the window only relaxed his muscles further instead of tensing them up like inclement weather always did in New York.

It was only the arrival of Peter as he clomped up the stairs that Edward became aware of the loss of light and the faint hint of a car engine as it started and then drove away. He felt the bed shift beneath him and then Peter was curled into his side, quietly sucking his thumb and thinking a mile a minute. Edward felt tears prick the corners of his eyes with the sudden flashback of Peter as a baby and how often they'd found themselves in a similar position, before he unfolded his left arm from underneath his head and protectively wrapped it around the small boy's body. He heard Peter's breathing change and then gently shook him awake when he heard a car engine stall and Esme perk up with the thought of _Carlisle!_ almost forty-five minutes later.

"Come on, bud," he said, sitting up and waiting for Peter to rub the sleep out of his eyes before he grabbed his nephew's hand and they walked down the stairs together.


	7. A Welcome Respite to Sadness

**A/N**: _A link to a picture of Tanya and Peter's house is on my profile._

* * *

Edward ate in terse silence, trying hard not to focus on any of the three adults surrounding him, having no patience or desire to read their thoughts in the explicit detail their proximity and relaxed circumstances allowed. Even Edward recognized that he was in obviously better spirits than he had been the last time such a dinner occurred (the presence of Peter included, although Edward tried not to scrunch up his face when he entertained such absurd notions as grabbing Peter and placing him on his lap) – all thanks to Bella and the complete switch in mood he hadn't anticipated or been able to completely explain once he let himself wander down that path – and, as the night progressed in muted conversation, he almost made it to the place where he could relax completely. Although Edward's family was still concentrating on his presence in the house (as well as, he noticed, his exact catalyst for coming to Forks in the first place), the fact that they were thinking _about_ him didn't bother him like it usually did, or should, considering how moody he tended to be in such situations.

He could fully appreciate the stink-eye Tanya consistently threw his way whenever he chose the wrong moment to look up, understood Esme's quiet, breathless sighs that were subconsciously slipped out after he smiled at something Peter said or laughed at one of his nephew's nonsense jokes, and was secretly encouraged by his father's unspoken acceptance that something had changed in him, but further reluctance to question it as heavily as he had a decade ago. Carlisle sensed that Edward wasn't as guarded as he had been in response to familial matters but, at present, he wasn't aware that his wife and daughter also shared his sentiments and so, kept such observations to himself. Without asking, all three adults knew that Edward was different (in the small way such a difference sparks raised eyebrows and hinted innuendos).

Each one of Edward's reactions was studiously critiqued for honesty and then matched up with either a similar moment before his accident or an opposite reaction to the same situation after said accident and, the longer Edward stayed calm and collected, the less he remained in focus of the very thoughts that were beginning to grate on his nerves. He could have huffed and gotten angry they were still so concerned with his behavior, letting him know that not one of them had accepted the change as he'd requested, but their unwillingness to pry too harshly calmed him and he had to admit that he was grateful for how easily they were adjusting to the added body and happy that he didn't have to worry they were going to force some sort of emotional intervention. As the dinner wore on, Carlisle, Esme, and Tanya grew bolder in their assumptions and, stealthily, Edward's unguarded responses slowly disappeared in lieu of some of their more pressing concerns. Not one of the three adults understood how it had happened, but they all agreed on one point: Edward was coming back and, for now, that was enough.

* * *

Dinner had ended almost thirty minutes ago and Edward still couldn't move away from the painting Esme and Carlisle proudly hung above their baby grand piano. While Tanya and Peter had said their goodbyes and left to settle in for the night (in addition to working part-time as a receptionist at the town hall, she was taking afternoon classes at Peninsula College to earn her Associates degree in Business and often went to bed at the same time Peter did, something Edward found oddly funny), Esme and Carlisle had escaped to the kitchen and used the dishes as their excuse for some romantic alone time in between soft sighs and caresses of hope Edward couldn't quite bring himself to listen in on, and left Edward to his solitude when he'd shown his reluctance to leave. (He knew his parents were quietly reassuring each other of their mutual acceptance of his presence, but the emotions they were feeling were still too strong for Edward to acknowledge and made him feel ashamed they had forgiven him so easily; and, frankly, all the emotional vulnerability Edward had witnessed in the past few hours was proving to be quite overwhelming.)

He had migrated to the often unused living room and, at first, sat at the room's most obvious centerpiece, tracing the keys with his fingertips until he found himself stalling, hovering over the start of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" and realizing he was unable to commence playing. The song, although rarely practiced and never publicly performed, had always remained one of his favorites since he'd begrudgingly learned it at twelve and had been too childishly obedient to let his mother know he wouldn't be playing the piano anymore. That decision had been prolonged and finally occurred the week after his fourteenth birthday, when he could no longer look Esme in the eye and lie so grandiosely. Sure, he had been a modestly shy child, artistically inclined within the right medium, but fourteen meant Edward was starting the summer before his first year in high school, and he had finally decided he wanted a more active social life, one not dictated by uncomfortable bow-ties and hidden smirks from his sister's rotating slew of boyfriends.

Edward didn't know when it happened, but he had always remembered wanting nothing more than to be popular, the resolution cemented when Tanya snuck in her first boyfriend when she was supposed to be baby-sitting Edward's scrawny eleven-year-old frame and he caught them making out from his long-ago perfected spying techniques. Even though he knew he was watching his sister engage in an act that still made him blush in public when the topic arose, he was reaching the cusp of adolescence and sex was no longer the tail of 'ewww, cooties,' but, instead, the forbidden landscape Edward wanted to desperately explore. He understood, watching them chastely flirt in front of his parents and then give in to their teenage desires in private, that he would not get to experience the unchartered territory known as 'the female' unless he was popular, like Ricky and every other boy Tanya nervously brought home once their relationship 'progressed.' Nerdy boys who aligned with the musically inclined were made fun of by such people and Edward, at that age, couldn't understand why such sentiments didn't always have to be followed.

He sat on the piano bench and thought back to his preteen logic, finally allowing himself the small sense of self-loathing such memories were now saturated in. Had he been more astute in his personal activities, would he still have denied Esme the pleasure of hearing him play? _No,_ he thought automatically, _I would have never given up piano, never tried out for football, never gotten into my accident…_ Such thoughts were swift and quickly glossed over, especially now, when Edward was in the place where his life had irrevocably altered. He could work backwards from the present (_and had, at great length_), picking over tiny details so that he would have an arsenal of thoughts with which he could spent hours reworking and reorganizing, making himself guilty and exhausted with the effort he gave to such fruitless endeavors. Even if Edward pinpointed the exact moment his current path had started, he had always realized he would never be able to change the past _or_ the present, and giving hope to such morbid fascination only resolved his guess that he had given free reign for his depression to swallow him whole a long time ago.

Lost in such a reverie drove Edward's gaze upward and his fingertips lightly grazed the piano keys as they followed his body and moved across the room. It was a simple painting, one of his earlier and more subjective, modern explorations, but it had always been one of his favorites and gifting it to Esme and Carlisle only made him more aware that he had always had a subconscious desire to keep it close at hand. Staring at the painted canvas only brought back his moment of exact inspiration, an afternoon he had walked through Central Park and sat stonily by the water as people strolled blissfully unaware behind him. One couple had taken residence on the bench about twenty feet from his back and proceeded to unabashedly project their lust upon each other. It was dusk and, to their credit, no one else was in the vicinity except for Edward, a person who normally would have had no idea what they were trying very hard not to do in public. But he heard both thought streams and it only attuned him further to the quiet, hurried noises behind him, only made him more aware of who, exactly, he'd left in Forks.

It had been almost ten o'clock when the couple left the bench and Edward finally stood up to stretch his muscles and stomp back to the shitty apartment that was never clean enough and perpetually smelled like mold no matter how many times he took it upon himself to furiously scrub anything within reach. He could have simply walked away from the couple, gone home, and pitied his entire existence (such behavior was terribly adequate for a twenty-year-old_ artist_, living and breathing his craft, thinking he'd rather die than sell out), but he knew that he would have stared at the couple without trying to, would have glared at them and made them uncomfortable and, even if it felt good at the time, the guilt he would have felt afterwards far outweighed the immediate reward.

So Edward had clomped up the four flights of stairs, ripped open his apartment door, and then holed himself up in his room until it was daylight and the smell of oil paint in his unventilated room made him delirious and unnaturally happy. He stood in the living room looking at the end product and remembered how many layers he'd had to add before he'd only been mildly disappointed in the result. The different shades of blue still reminded him of all the shirts Bella had owned in similar colors, how each shirt was for a different occasion and seemed to mimic its purpose by the way various skin lit up and was momentarily highlighted when he'd been fortunate enough to discretely stare inappropriately. There was no pattern he could discern within the painting – even now, looking at it with a critical eye and the entire back story – but he could easily see the pain he'd felt then, how new and raw the wound seemed to be before he realized that he should probably learn to live like this because nothing was ever going to change.

Edward fingered the corner of the stretched canvas, mouthing 'Drowning, Edward Cullen, 2001' as his fingertip lazily scrolled across the red acrylic he'd used to mark it. He'd never decided whether he'd wanted to drown in the blues that constantly mocked and hinted at the void Bella had unknowing left (_a void_, he thought bitterly, _he would be glad to have now _– how small it seemed in hindsight), willing desperately to drown in _her_, or whether it was a plea of desperation, a cry for help, someone to save him from the asphyxiation he knew was imminent.

Edward heard his parent's close footsteps and snapped out of his daze; he'd decided momentarily that he didn't care – drowning had to be easier than the strain and exhaustion he'd felt merely trying to keep his head above water.

* * *

Wednesday gave Edward time to think over his new predicament, something he tried not to do lest he craved wandering thoughts and a low level of productivity. (_Bella, _he would sigh unobtrusively, his mind getting tangled and his task at hand completely forgotten. The feelings were nice, but extremely embarrassing for a twenty-eight-year-old male used to such female encounters – _but never_, he would counter, _never in my life have I ever wanted to not even fuck someone on the first date_, the thought prompting more achingly romantic reveries.) It was best to just not think of her and focus instead on calling Alice back and staying quiet for five whole minutes while she yelled at him for ignoring her calls and making her needlessly worry and then, when she had told him he should stay in Washington for as long as he needed, laying out his dirty clothes and running around Port Angeles to wait for someone else to wash them. (Edward could have easily checked out of the hotel and made camp with Esme and Carlisle but, as much as he enjoyed the company and the throwback to a childhood he was beginning to realize wasn't as bad as he remembered (_everything,_ it seemed, _everything had been soiled because of that stupid fucking accident_), he was still hesitant to put down his roots in Forks, still afraid everything was happening too perfectly to not go wrong and blow up in his face.)

Thursday provided Edward with an exercise in control. He knew Bella would be at the house helping Peter like she had been on Tuesday afternoon, and, as much as simply being so close to her would only need the perfectly valid excuse of 'I'm just here visiting my mother and nephew; fancy seeing you as well!,' Edward could never pull off such a lie without blushing, stammering, or excusing himself to prolong the mockery he knew he would make. He was nervous just pacing his hotel room and the thought of actually being close to Bella made his stomach flutter and his breath come in quick pants. He opted for a quick afternoon lunch date – to which his mother had been secretly preparing for without any word from Edward whether he would or would not show up – and then left shortly after Tanya had dropped Peter off and he entertained the six-year-old with a rusty version of "I Am The Very Model Of A Modern Major General" (Peter merely thought Edward's missteps were part of the fast-paced song and the latter took great pleasure in the former's infectious giggles, even when they brought Esme sneaking around the corner and interrupted his concentration for a split second of annoyance he no longer felt).

Then Edward left, promising to visit both parties soon, and drove to his favorite dead-end, changing positions so frequently against his car that he just gave up and called Jasper, asking to see him on Saturday afternoon. Both parties knew, without saying, that Edward couldn't set foot on campus, at least not yet. Edward sighed without knowing why and quickly drove back to Port Angeles, giving Bella the space he wasn't sure she actually needed while he could mope and talk to himself in private, planning their close-approaching date while he paced and didn't quite rip out his hair.

* * *

Edward awoke on Friday morning with a start, groaning when he spied the clock and realized 7:30 was as late as his body was going to let him sleep. He chose to run again, logging miles he didn't count as he slapped his feet close to the water and thought, if it was clear enough, he might be able to see Canada. His subsequent shower and deliberation over what to wear (he still only had the three outfits he'd been wearing since his arrival in Forks a week ago) only brought him to eleven o'clock and a light head due to lack of sustenance. Edward ordered room service before he allowed himself to call Bella Italia and confirm his reservation (_eight o'clock! table for two!_). He then hung up and began his silent countdown, wondering briefly if this is how he was supposed to feel before any of the gallery openings his work had made possible, deciding, just as quickly, how little he cared about the answer.

A quick glance at the clock brought Edward out of himself.

_Fuck!_ he screamed, grabbing the bridge of his nose and swinging his legs off the bed. _Fuck fuck fuck_. _It's already one and I don't have any clothes and I can't keep wearing the same damn outfit every time I see Bella. Oh fuck shit fuck._

Edward jumped in his car and drove to Seattle, buying whatever he thought looked good in whatever stores he passed in the hour he let himself shop. He shoved everything in the back seat and drove back to the hotel, trying to mentally catalogue his new purchases while throwing furtive glances at the alarm clock every five minutes, finding that pacing across the floor was the only activity to adequately keep his mind occupied for the ninety minutes he waited. At exactly 7:30, Edward pulled on his jacket and sprinted down the steps, driving the two miles to his destination and sitting in his car for ten full minutes.

He was still seated fifteen minutes early.

* * *

"Would you like to see the wine list, sir?" Edward turned at the question but didn't comprehend what was being asked of him. He cocked his head in concentration, trying to ignore the waiter's thoughts so he could remember what he'd heard and respond.

"Uh, no. Thank you. That won't be necessary." Although the twenty-second pause Edward took might have further aroused the curiosity of some of the more inexperienced or flirtatiously female servers, Edward's merely nodded once and spun away, vocalizing his concerns about the ten minutes Edward had sat, alone, in the booth, delicately sipping water as he distractedly looked at the menu and anywhere but at the door, while Edward slumped further into the squeaky vinyl and buried his head in his hands.

_Breathe, Cullen. The last thing Bella needs is some dipshit trying too hard to–_ the seat opposite Edward made a small squeak and he looked up distractedly. Bella was preoccupied with removing her coat, giving Edward the short pause he needed to blush, look down, clear his throat, and then calmly rest his menu on the table.

"You get here okay?" he asked, immediately gulping down some of his water as he eyed her over his glass. Bella looked up and paused before she shrugged out of the rest of her jacket, pushed it into the corner, and fiddled with her silverware.

"Yeah. I forgot how long it can be." Edward openly stared at her as her cheeks reddened and she looked up. "When you're expecting something," she finished quietly. The pause between them was palpable, reminding Edward of the half-hour they had spent in Jasper's office five days prior. _Except this time she's not running away._ Bella picked up her menu and broke the stare. _Yet,_ he reminded himself.

"Can I start you two off with something to drink?" The waiter was back, mentally relieved that Edward hadn't been stood up. Edward allowed himself a small grimace while Bella answered.

"Sparkling water, with lemon?" The waiter turned and she went back to her menu.

"And for you?"

"Coke, diet. Please," Edward responded. The waiter left and Edward stole glances at Bella over his menu, averting his gaze whenever she blushed and looked up. Once their drinks had returned and their dinners had been ordered, Edward sat fiddling with his thumbs, eyes trained on Bella's restless fingers and a mind so muddled he almost felt normal.

"Did you always want to teach?" he ventured, slowly lifting his head when the movement in her fingers stopped.

"No, I, uh, I volunteered at this Boys and Girls club in Seattle when I was a sophomore in college and it was the only time I ever felt useful, you know? Like the things that I was good at could be used to help other people." Edward found himself fascinated by her lips even though her fingers had started tapping again. "So I declared an education major and graduated and got my masters and here I am." Her admission caused Edward to smile and she took a sip of her drink before speaking again. "Did you always want to be an artist?" blanching with the question when Edward looked at her inquisitively. "I mean, before. Your accident." Edward shook his head at both her blush and her remark, sweeping a hand through his hair before continuing.

"I don't really remember what I wanted to be. It was never something I thought about consciously, like, actively set my heart on or anything." He paused and, when he looked at Bella, she merely blushed. "I know my dad always wanted me to go to med school and my mom always told me I could do whatever I wanted to, but, like, I just remember everything I did in high school revolving around football, you know? Like who I was friends with, where I went on the weekends, how I did in class, what I ate, when I worked out… and then, when it didn't, I fell into art and couldn't see myself doing anything else." Edward paused again, studying what he could of Bella's face while she looked at him imploringly. "Sometimes," he whispered, "I don't like to think of where I'd be without it." She nodded and they both went back to their restless maneuvers.

"I saw you in the _Times_ once," Bella said to the table. Edward immediately stopped to look at her.

"Really?" he asked quietly. He barely noticed his heart rate pick up the longer she didn't say anything.

"Yeah, um, it was oddly serendipitous." She glanced up and blushed again. "I had this, like, nagging urge to look through the paper and so I bought a copy and searched through the whole thing and, then, when I found your review, I knew that was what I was looking for."

"When?" Edward breathed. He knew her answer was important but he couldn't understand why.

"August 15th, 2003." Bella looked up and they both sat still, drinking in each other's presence. Edward tried to fathom how Bella remembered the exact date of his first review, why she made it seem like that two-sentence blurb was worth more praise than any other press he'd received since. He wanted to ask her how well she remembered the boy she went to high school with, if she had always wondered how he'd been or regretted their lack of contact. He could feel a question on the tip of his tongue, could taste the words as they formed in his mouth, and then the moment was broken as food was placed in front of each of them and they didn't have to act like this meeting was something more than a first date.

Even after their conversation had moved to more 'getting to know you' topics, and their dinners lay half-eaten between them, Edward still found himself dissecting Bella's response.

_She knew the exact date_, he mused, _as if she had cut it out and saved it._

* * *

Edward had a hard time paying the check once the table was cleared and it was the only object tying Bella to him and the dinner they'd just shared. From his limited experience in college, he knew that even if he didn't feel so strongly for Bella, their almost two-hour dinner and constant flow of conversation had to have meant they had fared well for the night. Between the pull of her lips and the blush that Edward giddily tried to inflict, he'd been consumed with the woman seated across from him and so enjoyed their muted presence within the restaurant that driving away and gaining the ability to concentrate on other's thoughts was the least of his worries.

Knowing how they functioned when together, how at ease Bella put him when her guard was down and she seemed to be enjoying herself, only made Edward angry at the imminence of their separation. Two hours wasn't enough when compared to the eleven years he'd been waiting.

Once outside the restaurant, both bodies suddenly turned shy, awkward, and obviously dawdling; without thinking, Edward grabbed Bella's hand and coyly tilted his head towards the Harbor. She glanced up flirtatiously, bit her lip, and started shrugging from one foot to the other, giving Edward the distinct impression that she was just as inexperienced as he was. Although the thought at first made him slightly hard (_how about some fucking role-playing!_), he soon realized her posture merely hinted at the shy sixteen-year-old he'd left and his resolve to outwardly express how closely he resembled his former seventeen-year-old self cemented. _Who the fuck cares if we're both nearly thirty? We can act like two teenagers in love, right?_

"Come on," he whispered, pulling her into his side at the same time his long legs propelled them forward. His earlier runs throughout Port Angeles had given him space to brood as much as he had gained inspiration from the kitschy layout of the small city. As Bella kept quiet beside him, sighing at the same moments she tightly squeezed his hand, Edward used her close proximity and unyielding warmth to dull his mind and used his height to grin profusely. He felt like skipping and couldn't remember a happier moment.

Edward was sure that there had been happy moments sprinkled throughout his adolescence (and all but lathered around his childhood), but, looking back, things just seemed misplaced and tainted by his unnatural ability. Whatever happy memories he had experienced in high school were now diluted and sullied by the hindsight he'd gained after his accident and, try as he might, he realized that most of his cognizant preteen years had been lived with the expectation of better years down the road. Nothing but the prospect of slipping into another coma (which he had, shamefully, thought about profusely) had made Edward this giddy and delirious with pounding anticipation. He would never know for sure how his relationship with Bella would unfold and, for the first time, the lack of knowledge made him ecstatic. With Bella, he would always feel normal and Edward, no matter how much he would probably wish otherwise, knew that small, unknown gift was worth everything.

The walk, although short in its own right, ended too quickly for Edward to correctly process its significance. They were already out far enough to avoid potential street traffic and, as soon as Bella had glimpsed the sliver of Victoria almost fifty miles away, had taken back her hand and hugged her body against the slight wind they hadn't felt without the closeness of water.

She was speaking in various tones of fascination but Edward couldn't concentrate enough to hear her. He was too focused on the natural blush the cold air had made on her cheeks, the way she could entertain herself with solitude and geography, how happy he felt just looking at her in the filtered half-light and cold November air. Even their six-foot distance was pulling on his heartstrings and making him feel like a sap for falling in love so quickly.

_Was this love?_ he wondered. _Is this what I've been missing? This simple contentment? This urge to be close and always touch?_

_Does it matter?_ he countered. _Does it matter when it happened? What I choose to name it?_

He'd always felt some form of lust for Bella (in the right moment, the thought of her naked consistently rivaled the pure carnal bliss he remembered feeling as he grew up and went down his laundry list of sexual firsts), always felt an almost magnetic pull to be close to her in an attempt to claim her as his romantic equal, but he had never felt _this_ before. He wanted time to stop so he could perfectly compartmentalize his reaction to her essence; he wanted time to surge forward so he could be frozen in this moment forever; he finally understood how trivial his pain had been, how unclose he'd always come to correctly understanding how it would feel to lose her; he felt – first briefly and then almost unrelentingly – how accepting he'd become of death, as if he could die this instant and feel accomplished, feel blissfully content that he had experienced something so pure and basic as romantic fervor at all.

But, above all, Edward needed Bella to understand.

The thought propelled him forward and then he was hugging her, abruptly stilling her laughably tourist movements and making her pulse beat faster as his hands encircled her waist and his nose found cover in the hollow behind her ear.

"I'm sorry I took so long to come back to you," Edward said, peppering her exposed neck with feather light kisses. The action caused Bella to turn slightly while she eyed his form and he pulled her in tighter and laid claim to her skin. She turned back towards the water and brought her arms over his, pushing them into her torso with the same force he was sticking both of their bodies together.

"I'm sorry I didn't follow you," she whispered, too low for anyone to hear but her heart as it sped up in response.

* * *

The walk back to their respective cars seemed innocent enough; Edward and Bella's posture mimicked the stance they had both adopted on the way towards the harbor and the former's grin and the latter's sighs gave no indication that such an intimate moment had been shared.

They reached Bella's car first.

"This is me," she said quietly, swinging the hand that Edward held as if she had no desire to let it go. Edward looked down at her dropped gaze and used his free hand to gently lift her chin while he brought his other hand to the side of her face. Bella closed her eyes and sighed, leaning into Edward's embrace while he tucked wayward strands of her hair behind her ears and bit his lip in concentration.

_This is it. This is totally fucking it._

He gently rubbed her lower lip with the pad of his thumb and her mouth parted in response, her breaths becoming haggard as she exhaled into the cold air. Slowly, Edward lowered his forehead to hers, leaning against her body while their mouths moved closer together and the air between them grew warm, short puffs of white escaping and filtering away in the speed with which they were panting.

He skimmed his nose against her cheek, dragging it upwards as he took a deep breath, willing her scent to take residence in all parts of his body. He wanted to kiss her and save her, claim her as his own and then keep her forever.

Bella inhaled sharply and then Edward's mouth was on her own, gently nudging his bottom lip in between hers, pressing lightly on her full top lip and trying to always remember what this moment did to him. His body was screaming for more, pathetically pleading for hot slippery tongues and a forceful shove into her back seat, but he wanted to savor the taste of her lips before he forgot how new everything was, how foreign her skin felt, how giddy he was to explore it.

He pressed harder, felt her insistent response as her fingers moved to the nape of his neck and then he let go, rubbed the apples of her cheeks, gave her one last peck before stepping away completely.

"Goodnight, Isabella," he breathed into her ear, walking slowly away and allowing himself a confident smirk after he looked over his shoulder and found that she hadn't moved yet, hadn't even opened her eyes or closed her parted lips.


	8. Minor Adjustments

Edward planned to meet Jasper at Café Garden at noon, the spot chosen because both men knew they would either have to meet in Port Angeles to have a nice, sit-down meal or else convene at one of their respective houses – and neither, without admitting it, wanted to make the occasion overly sentimental or awkward. Edward had managed to mask his relief at the former suggestion and was now sitting alone and waiting for Jasper to arrive. Even without the nerves a house call would have produced, this was still the first time he had purposefully seen Jasper outside of his own academic interest (and subsequently without being the latter's student), and he felt queasy just thinking about.

"Edward!" Jasper yelled, clapping him on the shoulders and then rubbing affectionately. Edward had been so engrossed with his menu and the fantasies his previous night with Bella had produced that he wasn't as in-tune with the outside world as he normally would be and the greeting came as a surprise. Although brief, the sudden thought that Edward had gotten used to his ability – and thus come to rely on it – was unsettling.

_Is that a good or bad thing?_ he mused. It only took him a second to realize the answer: he only seemed to feel normal when thinking about, or in the presence of, Bella, and that had to be a good thing.

"Hey, Jasper," Edward answered, smiling faintly when he glanced upwards and saw that Jasper had already sat down and was looking over the menu in an exaggerated fashion. His verbal comment caused Jasper to raise an eyebrow and look at the younger man with muted humor.

_He is so out of it right now… I wonder what happened with Bella?_ "Something on your mind?" Jasper asked, a slow smirk working its way across his face when Edward's countenance immediately took on a note of mild shock.

"No," Edward quickly recovered. "I'm just not used to seeing so many people I've forgotten, you know?" He glanced briefly down at his menu, trying to hide his face from Jasper's prying eyes while still making it seem like he wasn't paying full attention to the other man's thoughts. "I feel like I'm back in high school," Edward said, causing Jasper's smile to fade and a slight crease to form in the middle of his brow, "and it makes me remember why I left in the first place."

_It couldn't have been that bad, right?_ Jasper thought, going back to his menu and leaving the table in silence. _I always knew something happened but I never thought he would still be this affected more than a decade later. Maybe I should talk to Alice…_

The thought quickly spiraled into their last conversation and Edward tried his best to tune out, not having any desire to learn about their burgeoning relationship or eavesdrop on a conversation Jasper had no intention of speaking out loud.

While the first ten minutes of their lunch felt like a bad first date, once Edward brought up a History Channel special he'd caught the end of, Jasper was visibly and mentally excited, letting Edward relax into companionable silence. He'd always liked Jasper – the easygoing way the man ran his life the same way he'd run his classroom – and it was oddly pleasant to sit across from one of his mentors and truly feel like an equal. He could hear Jasper's thoughts (always one step ahead of his verbal montage), but the extra commentary didn't bother him the way he was expecting; instead, it disallowed Edward the ability to discern one conversation from the other (giving him the muddled feeling a person half-listening will often adopt) and, although he would deny it should anyone ever ask, the faint smiles and random head nods were in response to _his_ internal monologue instead of Jasper's verbalized one.

Sitting at a table in the middle of Port Angeles and picking on half-eaten French fries, Edward suddenly realized how happy he felt, how very calm and content the mere presence of the people he loved were to his psyche. He'd spent six years running away from the people and places he'd assumed were responsible for the fallout of his accident and, because of it, logically escaped blame for his resulting behavior – because he'd never asked for the unorthodox talent he'd mastered and certainly hadn't sought its cause.

Maybe Edward didn't think it now, but, at sixteen, he had been somewhat happy with his life: at ease about his place in the social hierarchy that arrived when he hit puberty, pleased with the level of commitment his best friend Emmett and his girlfriend Rosalie were showing him at the time, and untroubled about the thought of anything beyond the next football game or approaching academic deadline. His life was easy and then suddenly it wasn't anymore. He could hear people thinking and understood kind words belied cruel thoughts; the unobstructed view into those surrounding him made it impossible to keep his former social position and, as a result, he realized both his best friend and girlfriend didn't care about him the way he'd always assumed; he retreated into himself and nothing except his own social survival was worth a second glance.

Hearing Jasper speak at great length about whatever topic Edward had brought up (in truth, his viewing of the program to catalyst their current conversation was half-assed and more out of boredom than anything else) only made his commitment to keeping up their friendship obvious. Jasper – just like Alice, his family, and now Bella – had always been there for Edward, quietly waiting in the wings for a simple acknowledgement that they were needed, that their presence was sought for more than just a verbal punching bag. Attending the reunion and placing himself back into the lives of those he'd left behind – although a subconscious decision until he had started to realize it this afternoon – was starling in its obviousness: Edward, by coming back to Forks and trying to correct the mistakes he had made, had also silently allowed such relationships to progress the way they would have if he hadn't been so emotionally selfish during the past twelve years.

Just like his mother's sudden and almost violent acceptance of his unspoken apology the moment she saw him just under a week ago, Edward was hit with the lifted weight of his realization. He looked up and wanted to cry with laughter as he noticed how Jasper was still on his own historical tangent, consciously oblivious to the past ten years and Edward's slow withdrawal away from those he refused to accept still cared for him. Just like Angela's unknowing admission that she had always felt protective of him during the one year he had unintentionally relied on her, Alice's constant cheer and ever-present defense against Edward's unplanned anger, his family's unwavering devotion to the son and brother who so quickly and undoubtedly shut them out, and Bella's unvoiced acceptance that he was right in always needing her… Jasper was continuing their friendship as if it had never stalled or distanced.

And the thought that this was happening – this complete devotion to a person who didn't deserve any of it – made Edward practically delirious. He felt that if everything went to shit as soon as he and Jasper parted, at least he could look back on this moment and remember the short week of happiness he'd been fortunate enough to acknowledge as it had transpired.

* * *

Edward felt nervous – more nervous than the two other times he'd done this within the past seven days – and just the thought of him feeling nervous added to his already increasing nervousness. He fidgeted with his collar through the small space he could reach after unzipping his jacket (it was still November but his body was certainly producing an inordinate amount of heat) and was rubbing the back of his neck whenever his collar failed to relieve his tension. His parents had never changed the locks and the house key Edward had been given at twelve was still attached to his key chain (of which jangling allowed his fingers to squirm when he needed to concentrate in a separate direction), but actually _using_ the key felt wrong, almost like an invasion of privacy. Just because he _could_ open the front door – and had, in everyone else's opinion, been re-inducted into the family's good graces – didn't mean that _he_ found such a presumptuous act appropriate.

_What if they were just pretending to think kindly of me? Were just as angry as I always assumed them to be?_

Edward shook his head just as the door opened and a quiet Peter stared back, cocking his head when Edward failed to say anything and didn't make an attempt to enter.

"_Come on_, Uncle Edward!" Peter whined, grabbing Edward's hand and pulling them both towards the stairs. Edward barely managed to throw the door closed before Peter was dragging them up to the second floor, huffing as he pulled the extra body weight and tried to sound angry. "Grandpa bet me his dessert that you would use your key and so you have to tell him that you rang the doorbell, okay? Because that's only fair that I win extra." Peter immediately let go upon reaching the landing, leaving Edward confused as he tried to remember what Peter had been talking about as the boy had dragged him upstairs.

"Hi, dear" Esme said, kissing him on the cheek at the same time she pulled him in for a hug. "You okay?" she questioned, holding Edward at arm's length and silently agreeing with Jasper's observations of Edward the day before.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Mom," Edward responded, momentarily pulled out of his thoughts and into the present.

"Well, then," _I don't believe you _"everyone's in the family room." She turned towards the kitchen and left Edward in the makeshift hallway, wondering whether he should be annoyed or grateful that his mother and Jasper were close enough to talk like old friends.

"Uncle Edward! Uncle Edward!" Peter yelled, the high-pitched plea quickly followed by a reprimand Edward assumed came from Tanya, and then a muffled laugh that Edward knew as his father's. "Grandpa doesn't believe me!" Peter's assurance walking up the stairs completely gone as Carlisle sat beside him on the couch and tried to hold in his laughter. Peter continued to pout, "he says you don't even _have _a key." Edward looked towards Tanya, who rolled her eyes and quickly returned her attention to the television, and then at Carlisle, who was just barely shaking with the effort it took to keep himself from laughing out loud.

_I've missed this_, Carlisle muttered to himself. _Peter is just as easy to tease as Edward was; it's so good to have them both together…_

_Why would Grandpa promise his ice cream? Did Uncle Edward know?_

Edward – remembering how awful his father's teasing used to make him feel – strode to the couch and sat down on the unoccupied side of Peter. He reached into his pocket to retrieve his keys, pulling them out and then separating them under his nephew's entranced gaze.

"Come here," he motioned, pulling Peter onto his lap. "Does this key look familiar?" Peter shook his head, silently worried and – if Edward could remember his own reactions – trying hard not to cry. "Ask Grandpa," Edward said, nodding his head towards Carlisle and then noticing that his father had to clear his throat and shift before he could appear stern and not overly sentimental like he wanted to.

"Grandpa? What key is this?" Peter softly asked, holding up the key just beyond Edward's chest like a peace offering. Edward was aware that most of the extraneous noises in the room had stopped and, if had looked up, he would have noticed Tanya staring open-mouthed at the trio from her chair across the room or Esme quietly surveying the exchange from her spot on the set of small stairs. But, even with his ability muted in concentration, he couldn't look anywhere else but at his father, trying to figure out why Peter was brought into a conversation Carlisle had been saving for him.

"You know, Peter," he started, quickly meeting Edward's stare before shifting his focus back to Peter, "I do believe I've lost my share of the dessert tonight." He punctuated his statement with a soft, almost sad, smile and it took a few silent moments before Peter understood Carlisle's statement.

"So it's really a house key?" he asked Edward, shifting his small body so it fit more snugly against Edward's supporting arm.

"Really," he winked. "I've had that key for longer that you've been born." Peter's eyes widened slightly before he began to sift through the other keys on Edward's key ring.

"What about this one?"

"That's the key to your house." Peter looked up briefly but then went back to his exploration.

"This one?"

"That's my apartment in New York City."

"What about this?"

"That opens my studio."

"Your studio?" Peter questioned, more concerned with the new word than with all the other keys he suddenly decided looked too similar to really be that different.

"Well," Edward started, smiling at the subtle way Peter continued to calm him down, "a studio is where artists work."

"Like an office?" Peter interrupted. "Like how Mommy works in an office and Grandpa goes to the hospital?"

"Exactly," Edward responded. "I go to my studio and paint pictures and it's just like an office except I'm the only one who gets to use it."

"Oh," he sighed, leaning his head on Edward's chest and signaling that the conversation was over. Edward looked up and then immediately back down when he realized all three sets of eyes were on him.

Tanya was baffled (and annoyingly curious that her son took so readily to his missing uncle) while Carlisle was nostalgic; Esme, however, was merely relieved, sighing once before she spoke, "Dinner's ready." Peter immediately perked up and jumped off Edward's lap, running to the kitchen sink to wash his hands before sitting down at the table. Tanya got up after him and then Edward followed, shrugging off his coat and wandering towards the front closet before he turned around and spied Carlisle bestowing a kiss on Esme's temple that Edward could only discern as protectively paternal; he felt intrusive nonetheless.

Although dinner progressed just as amicably as the one before it, Edward's realization of the day prior – and his newfound attempts to act, if not believe, that such forgiveness could be warranted – gave the current meal a more buoyant overtone. He tried his best to tune out his family members, finding their thoughts surprisingly easy to ignore when he actually took the time to not only listen to those around him but to also participate in the conversation at hand (a response that was not altogether ironic when he realized that merely accepting his current predicament could make it easy to live with). He caught the offhanded smiles both his parents threw towards each other, the six-year-old observations Peter had no qualms about voicing (to the maternal embarrassment Tanya repeatedly faced), and the slow-moving warmth his sister felt the more time he engaged Peter in adult conversation and looked, for all intents and purposes, to be enjoying their friendship just as much as his nephew was.

Edward continued to take Peter's side as they playfully chastised Carlisle during the meal, and, afterwards, he played more Gilbert and Sullivan for his nephew while Tanya and Esme cleared the table (the four of them breaking into laughter when Carlisle snuck up behind Peter and Edward and startingly belting out the lyrics, having the audacity to look embarrassed at such a display of musical theater knowledge). They heard Esme call them in for dessert – and then scold them for 'rough housing' on their way there (even though Edward knew she secretly loved the bonding they were all doing after so many years of being apart) – and, once seated, Peter deftly forbid anyone from sneaking Carlisle their ice cream, apparently already aware of his grandfather's mastery at guilt-tripping those involved to release him from his self-inflicted punishment.

As Peter's bedtime came and went, Edward relaxed into his former family dynamics, relishing Tanya's subdued behavior towards him and almost feeling like she had finally accepted him as a grown adult capable of making his own decisions instead of the annoying younger brother who had embarrassed her the one year of high school they shared and then made her confusion turn to frustrated anger when he came out of his coma and wouldn't explain anything. Edward understood that her disapproving façade – the longer he studied it and heard the thoughts simmering underneath – was just her way of dealing: first with Edward, second with her husband and subsequent divorce, and third with Peter. The gratitude she could never fully express six years prior was bubbling to the surface the more she watched her son play with his uncle – and the more she saw her brother come back to life in the presence of her son.

Edward, in all his unspoken resentment and odd idiosyncrasies, was filling the Cullen house with a palpable joy unacknowledged since before he had chosen to pursue a life of social prowess over creative and academic fulfillment. While Peter, at six and certainly showing the same level of talent Edward had eventually grown to embrace, was nothing short of euphoric – the way all high-energy children are – his joy, it seemed, could only be expressed (to its fullest and grandest potential) through Edward's complementary regression. Only when Edward left his baggage at the door and allowed such overwhelming happiness to consume him did he lessen the emotional burden for everyone else.

And, in his mind, such a positive emotional display was the least he could offer.

* * *

Edward woke up Monday morning with a smile on his face.

He understood his horizontal position, coupled with such a facial expression, to be trite and clichéd, but not even the day before – after a night ripe with romantically sexual fantasies starring Bella – had such a reaction come about. He had to physically feel his stretched muscles, rub finger tips over exposed teeth to understand that he wasn't dreaming and was really this at ease and happy. The thought, sudden and brief, only made him smile more and he burrowed into his rumpled covers and felt like laughing.

He was positively giddy and he liked it.

The phone rang and, no longer overly cautious or weary about speaking with people he had no desire to speak to, Edward answered after the first ring.

"Hello?" he smiled. _Fuck! This feels so good!_

"Edward, honey, I want you to move back here, at least while you're still in town." Esme's tone was that of familial nonchalance – 'honey, your father called;' 'dear, will you pick up some milk?' – and her suggestion, once viewed by Edward as unimaginable and, under no circumstances, to be initiated or carried out, was suddenly the only logical solution to his new energy and long (though unnecessary) commute between his hotel in Port Angeles and his daily excursions in Forks. He paused – a natural brief second to mull the idea over – before answering.

"Sure," he yawned. "Should I just come over? Where would I sleep?"

"Your room, of course." She paused, "Unless you'd prefer the guest room; you haven't grown much since you were in high school but that double bed can't be particularly comfortable."

"No," he interrupted. "My room's fine."

"Good," she mused. "You know your father will be so pleased, he'll probably break out his chess set as soon as he comes home… I know he'll never admit it, but he's never let you win."

"Right," Edward scoffed. "I've been winning since I was twelve."

"Exactly! He's such a sore loser; I suspect you only played him so much so that he could try and win back his pride but– whoops! I have another call, dear. Just let yourself in, okay?"

"Okay. 'Bye." He heard the dial tone and shut his phone, placing it on the bedside table before curling up again. _See! Not even moving back home can kill this mood!_

_Which means you don't know what the fuck _will_… _he countered, grinning wider when his own negativity failed to reproduce its desired effect.

_Exactly._

The rest of the morning was spent languishing in bed while Edward slowly moved his extremities to produce a tangled mess of bedangels. He imagined waking up every day in this exact way – deliriously happy and not caring enough to understand why – before turning over when his grin became mischievous to find a sleeping Bella content and breathing deeply, her haphazardly strewn arm laying over the sheets, and her left ring finger adorned with the only clue to her current predicament. Edward stopped his present ministrations and turned his head to the right as if he could simply stare at the empty space and make her appear the way he wanted her to: beautifully post-coital and feeling blissful because her children weren't awake yet and her husband couldn't fall asleep without her, entirely at ease because she would open her eyes and see him and know they would always be together.

* * *

Edward's packing (if one could even call it that) was done efficiently and with speed. While he _had_ gone to Seattle and purchased a few outfit staples, the pieces only made his paltry wardrobe meager and everything was more or less shoved into his carry-on. The wrinkled clothes reminded him that Alice – usually a worrywart and excessively chatty the longer they went without seeing one another – hadn't called since Wednesday (a record five days even by Edward's count). The thought that something had happened threw him into a humorous panic and he immediately jumped across the bed to reach his phone and call her.

_Oh my God! I've been so obsessed with my own life that I never even _thought_ to call her! Fuck! Please pick up! Please pick–_

"Hello?" she answered, sounding a bit breathless and bored.

"Alice?" he yelled. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"Edward," she snapped. "I'm fine. What the hell is wrong with you?" Her nonchalance about the call confused him.

"I, uh– you haven't called and, um, I didn't know why," he trailed off lamely. He heard Alice snort before speaking.

"Phones work both ways." _And the world doesn't revolve around you_.

"So you're okay then?" _Is she oddly happy too? This is so fucking weird._

"Yes, Edward, I'm fine." She sighed and he heard her smile through the phone. "Jasper's really chatty so I've been calling him instead of bothering you." _Which reminds me… he should have called me by now…_

"Oh," he responded, the word sounding pitiful out loud. Edward felt guilty as soon as he understood that he _hadn't_ particularly enjoyed Alice's cheerful disposition all the times he'd been thoroughly subjected to it, but then he started to feel glum when a small part of him realized he missed the interaction. Although unorthodox, his reaction only magnified how much he'd taken advantage of such unrequited conversation within the past decade, and how truly easy his reintroduction into his own social circle had been within the past couple of days. Did he miss Alice's attention because some part of him actually looked forward to such easy and uninhibited conversation (where he barely had to say anything and could occasionally nod and be considered a large part) or because it was no longer directed at him and, secretly, he was just now realizing, he was inherently selfish? He was quiet, unsure of how to verbally respond.

"Edward?" Alice questioned, her voice soft and devoid of its former humor. "I know that I'm not the only thing that's changed in the past week; how about you call me later and tell me about you and Bella?" Her tone was quiet, pushing him into a decision he'd been too afraid to voice on his own.

"Okay, yeah," he smiled, suddenly relieved of a problem he didn't know how to explain. "I'd like that," he finished, smiling at the very adult turn his friendship with Alice had just seemed to take.

"And, Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry so much. I've know you for ten years and never once have you called me in such a panic." She laughed lightly, not fully understanding his alarm but enjoying his good humor while she could. "That girl Bella sure is a Godsend."

Edward couldn't help but agree.

* * *

Monday afternoon passed quietly: Esme running errands until it was time to think about dinner and Edward moseying around the house, exploring the site of his childhood and wondering what his life would have been like if he'd never left. He only realized the change – not _what if I never got into my accident? _but now _what if I had stayed?_ – when he entered his father's study and found his old football accolades shoved into the same box as his medical records. Fingering the yellowed newspaper and remembering the high the depicted moment had first produced allowed Edward to reminisce in a way he'd never been able to do. He could read about these moments of victory and then, when he was done, shove them way again. It was liberating as much as it threw him into some sort of unexplainable panic. Obviously, his mother had publically disposed of such reminders Edward was sure he never wanted to remember at sixteen and violently angry at the world, but his father's research showed that he had never given up hope that his son's unrecognizable illness could be explained and, if not remedied, then lived with.

The care the two of them had silently felt was stored away in that box and Edward couldn't bring himself to look at it any longer; for a brief moment, he understood that there were some things he would never deserve and it was too painful to dwell on a past he was only just starting to recover.

Five o'clock chimed throughout the house and Edward heard his mother's muted laughter from the kitchen a floor below. He didn't know what else to do with himself except get rid of the odd itch he felt to be near another person, and picked up his phone to call Alice.

"I figured I would have to stay up late tonight!" she chided after the third ring.

"Oh," Edward mumbled, rubbing his neck out of habit. "I would have still called you."

"I know," Alice laughed, "I just assumed you would have forgotten the time difference." She paused and Edward looked around his small bedroom, playing with the zipper on the carry-on he hadn't unpacked yet. "So tell me about Bella." He didn't know what to say; failing to remember the last time he'd actually voiced a problem or occurrence to another person out loud made him grimace when he realized he'd always treated Alice as a presence and not a person.

_Do I just talk or wait for her to ask questions? Fuck!_

"Edward," she continued, her voice soft but her tone humorous, "what happened on the date? Did you kiss her?" He wondered if this was as weird for her as it was for him, but then heard that she honestly wanted to know and had, because of Jasper, resolutely decided she no longer needed to believe a romantic future with him was possible.

"It was good," he smiled. "We went out on Friday and I think she had a good time." Alice, although audibly quiet in response to his tentative observations of Bella's behavior, was mentally ecstatic, trying to chastise her knee-jerk response and not scare him away with her excitement.

Edward could only smile wider when he realized what she was doing and her efforts allowed him to relax and begin to open up: first about his feelings toward Bella in high school (of which he'd only recently expressed and, under no such terms, believed were fully comprehended), and then how much she'd stayed on his mind while in New York, how unfulfilling his success seemed when he never had the right person to thank and celebrate with. Alice was accommodating, even when Edward grew shy at the prospect of saying out loud all the fantasies he'd kept quiet since he'd dreamed them up, and he could only breathe a sigh of relief when she understood the love he'd only just acknowledged.

They ended their conversation when Esme projected dinner was ready, and Edward felt buoyant at all the progress he seemed to be making since he'd made the decision to come back to Forks. He jumped down the stairs and wouldn't let himself think of how much it would hurt if things fell apart.

* * *

Edward smelled pancakes and almost rolled off his mattress when he subconsciously moved towards the source. Tentatively opening one eye against the abundance of muted light showed his feet dangling off the side of the small mattress and a bedside clock that read 8:17am. He laughed – a short gruff bark – and sat up to stretch his cramped muscles, understanding that a vaguely uncomfortable night's sleep wasn't exactly worth the emotional choice to sleep in his own bedroom. But Edward couldn't bear to sleep anywhere but where he had always slept (especially considering his treatment was as a visiting son and not a guest) and so chose to laugh at his stubbornness instead of wallow in it.

Walking into the kitchen in an undershirt and boxers made Edward feel fifteen again, like this was just another daily occurrence now that Tanya was away in college and he could favorably be treated as an only child and not risk the wrath of a hormonal eighteen-year-old. The presence of a Belgian waffle topped with whipped cream and strawberries – along with a humming Esme and a seated Carlisle reading the paper – only made the image that much more indicative of déjà vu. Edward smiled wider, kissed his mother on the cheek, and settled into easy breakfast conversation before Carlisle left for work and handed him a blank crossword puzzle. Edward looked up, confused.

"I remember you always liked to do them," Carlisle responded quietly, averting Edward's gaze and exiting the kitchen as if such a presumption hadn't occurred. Edward _had_ enjoyed completing crossword puzzles, but the once-daily activity had been so engrained in his pre-accident life that he hadn't tried to complete one since his first failed attempt after his accident, and his father's simple gesture felt extremely sincere if not entirely unexpected. He couldn't say anything – not even after his father had already left the kitchen and exited the house – and just sat at the table and finished his breakfast, throwing quick glances at the folded paper before grabbing it on his way upstairs.

Edward didn't finish the crossword puzzle, but he didn't throw it across the room before biting his lip to keep himself from crying, either, and he knew that was a start.

* * *

Tanya dropped Peter off just before two on Tuesday, but wasn't snippy or surprised to see Edward lounging in front of the television like she had been when he called the house a week prior. Peter dropped his book bag and flung himself beside his uncle, too concerned with untying and removing his shoes to notice Edward's stealth tickle attack. His weak protests – sandwiched in between breathless giggles – only caused Tanya to join in while Esme held in her own laughter from the archway. Once it was decided that Peter had suffered enough, both he and Tanya turned on Edward and the whole attack repeated itself, causing Peter's giggles to grow insistently louder the longer Edward fell prey to his older sibling's knowledge of where he hated to be tickled most.

Once the three youngest Cullens lay spent against the couch, Tanya checked her watch before hurriedly kissing Peter goodbye and leaving for her afternoon class. Edward and Peter resumed their couch potato status until the doorbell rang at three and Edward's heart sped up at the prospect at whom he was going to see.

"Bella!" Peter yelled, running towards her lower half and squeezing tight. "Did you read my story yet? Did you like it? Can I draw another one?" Bella had been brushing Peter's hair away from his face and staring at Edward while he spat out his questions, but she immediately bent down to his eye-level before answering.

"I loved your story, Peter. Why don't you go upstairs and get your crayons and then come back down and we can start working, okay?" He nodded and scampered off, leaving Edward and Bella alone with each other. He strode towards her to help her up even though they both knew she didn't need it. "Hi," she whispered, dropping her head between them.

"Hi," Edward whispered back, using one hand to raise her chin until they were looking at one another. "I've missed you," the statement punctuated by a soft caress against her cheek. She blushed and then looked down again.

"Me too." Edward was about to say something (he was too afraid of what the need to grab her face and kiss her actually meant) when they heard Peter's light footsteps as he ran down the stairs.

"Uncle Edward!" he wailed, elongating the name as he slid across the hardwood and almost into the family room. Edward immediately dropped his arm and Bella turned around.

"Yes?" he answered, smiling.

"Are you sleeping over?" Peter's eyes were wide and his arms hung loose at his sides.

"Yup," he popped, running towards Peter and causing the boy to shriek and giggle in an effort to run away. Edward sat down beside a kneeling Peter and smiled warmly up at Bella once she met them at the table. "So, what's on the agenda?"

"Yeah!" Peter voiced, "what are we doing, Bella?" Edward smirked at Esme's stifled giggle and then winked, causing Bella to sit down and roll her eyes.

"Well, _boys_, I want you both to pick an animal and then draw them during a typical day. What they do, who they see– what happens from the time they wake up to the time they go to bed. Okay?" Peter nodded and immediately drew a title page – The Day of Mr. Frog, by Peter Cullen – and virtually ignored the other occupants of the table, his concentrated look at odds with his small size and usual level of energy. Edward smiled faintly at Bella before she looked quickly away and began to pull out portfolios, and he watched her blush the longer he stared before she finally looked up in mock annoyance. "_What?_" she mouthed, rolling her eyes again after Edward merely shrugged his shoulders and stuck out his tongue.

Although Esme flitted in and out to repeatedly look over Edward and Peter's shoulders and ask the three of them if they were thirsty, the table stayed quiet until Bella realized it was five and time for her to be going. Edward concentrated on his current drawing and tried not to make his eavesdropping obvious.

"Are you done, Peter?" Bella asked, leaning over the boy's shoulder and breaking his artistic absorption.

"Yup!" he looked up. "Can I read it to you?" Bella smiled and leaned in closer, looking towards Edward just as she whispered into Peter's ear. Once Bella had escaped to the kitchen, Peter grabbed Edward's hand and dragged him into the family room. "_Come on_, Uncle Edward. It's story time." Edward looked behind him at a smirking Bella and then followed Peter, settling into the couch and furtively placing his hand near Bella's thigh, softly stroking when her only acknowledgement was to shift closer.

With Esme rounding out the trio, Peter began "The Day of Mr. Frog." He flipped through the pages one by one, explaining whatever scene he'd drawn and then quickly moving the sheet in a wide arc so that all three bodies could see it. The story – creative even for a six-year-old – was a blur to Edward, as he could only vaguely see the shapes Peter had colored in due to his concentration on the feel of Bella beside him and how comfortable he felt next to her in front of his family members. He memorized the heat expanding from her leg to his and listened to her soft sighs, trying to picture this occurrence as the end to an ordinary day, as if Bella would come home from school and then sit down beside him while their son or daughter (_or maybe twins?_) read them a story they'd drawn that afternoon. An unfamiliar tightening in his chest moved through his body and he wanted to be angry, wanted to scream and cry and beg and make himself explain his own reasoning. How could he not see this before? How could he not understand everything he'd been so ready to give up?

Peter finished, bowed, and then left with Esme steering his body behind him. Edward looked over at Bella twisting her fingers and subconsciously reached out to soothe them.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" he asked, quiet and pleading while Bella took a deep breath and wouldn't look at him.

"Yes," she answered.

"Will you read my story?" he whispered, bringing her gaze upward with the simple movement to push back a strand of errant hair. He heard her breath hitch and smiled when Bella blushed before nodding. She stood up quickly and Edward silently followed, waiting against the wall with his hands in his pockets while she embarrassingly packed up her bag and pulled on her coat. She said a quick 'goodbye' to both Peter and Esme before catching Edward's stare and starting down towards the first floor. He shuffled behind her and then, the moment before she could connect with the doorknob, pushed her against the wood until a breath whooshed out against his chest.

"Bella, Bella, Bella," Edward soothed, smoothing out invisible wrinkles and ghosting his lips against her forehead. "I've never said this before and meant it," he paused, aware her body had stiffened but not finding the gesture important, "and that alone frightens me." He looked down at the same time he directed her chin up and their lips stayed close while they continued to drown in each other. "But then I see you and I know what I feel is right." Bella closed her eyes and her lips parted, Edward breathing in the closer he moved.

He kissed her, sliding his tongue against her bottom lip until she reached around to clutch him tighter and allowed him entrance. They barely moved their bodies except to further press against one another and, instead, used their mouths to admit how much they'd come to want the other's warmth. Edward felt himself get hard against her (even before she started to softly moan into his mouth) and it only spurred his impatience and the driving need flaring up in his belly and aching to come out verbally.

He needed to say it, had to express what he'd been feeling so she could say it back, but what he'd said was true: he was unsure and frightened and only understood in shades of arousal. Not only wanting to be with Bella – but inside of her, near her, and constantly around her – was downright nauseating. How could he know what to do – what to say and not say – if he'd never felt this way before? Had never allowed himself to feel so strongly for someone while fully comprehending the trust he would be freely giving away?

Bella broke the kiss and began to pant against him. Edward kissed her softly on the forehead and then stepped away, shifting himself to feel some semblance of comfort within the confines of his jeans.

"Lunch?" he asked, staring at her lips as she sucked in air.

"I have a break at eleven," she nodded. "You can bring something to the school if you want." The suggestion broke his daze and he noticed her staring at him, silently begging him to say 'yes.'

"Sure," he swore. She nodded and then left, Edward watching her walk to her car and drive away through the window. What he'd accepted made him nervous but, for Bella, he was realizing he would do anything.


	9. Coming Home

Edward was tense.

His car – a six-year-old automatic that he had grown to dislike the more time he spent driving it – was parked in the back of the student lot, sandwiched between other compacts and blending flawlessly into the dreary November décor. If he craned his neck just so, he could distinctly see the red unmarked steel door, banked on one side by solid brick (opaquely housing the eight enlargers and often expired, foul smelling photography chemicals he had never been more glad to remove from his weekday mornings) and, on the other, the large un-paned windows that took up one-third of one-fourth of the art room walls.

His clock dashboard was blinking towards 10:57 am and he could see vaguely see Bella through the two sheets of glass that separated his view. He was smiling at her wide arms and open mouth as she obviously (and unsuccessfully) tried to direct whatever restless students hadn't already zoned out for their upcoming lunch period.

Edward remembered sitting in that classroom and being one of those students – diligently concentrating on anything but his art teacher – except he no longer defined himself as the popular jock who – already cleaned up after a half-assed, yet ongoing, effort to obtain the one 'art & humanities' credit his coach stressed he could not get out of – found that picking on the less-popular students five minutes before the bell was more socially engaging than actually paying attention. His current smile at Bella's attempts to command order over her students triggered his memories of tuning out a gesticulating Mrs. Hamlin and how he had always been simply too engrossed on his latest project to do much else then become set on working through the three bells that were due to ring at eleven o'clock, eleven twenty-five, and twelve twenty-five.

Edward remembered that he had only packed up two-and-a-half hours after first entering his art classroom because there was nothing he could do to get out of fifth-period English, no matter how many pleas he fed any person of administrative authority, begged to take on extra work, or swore to his parents that he would simply skip his fifth and sixth period classes if they didn't bend to his needs (because, in his mind, they were clearly more pressing than wants). And the attention he had given art, even at seventeen and totally unaware of its potential as a saving grace, didn't escape him now.

The bell rang, startling Edward out of his heavily buried memory. He watched Bella flit through the classroom, bending over randomly before coming back into view holding scraps of paper, and then his gaze was again drawn to the red door. It's groan could be heard from where Edward was cocooned and he watched with jealously as a boy and a girl waltzed out the way he'd always wanted to: arms around each other and smiles lighting up their faces as they skipped the rest of the day, the girl throwing her head back in laughter as the boy merely studied her, transfixed. He followed them to what he assumed was the boy's car, watched them drive away, and then turned his focus back towards Bella as she slipped into her office and out of view.

Edward slowly, with an unnecessary and concerted effort, opened his door, grabbed the bag of food he'd picked up fifteen minutes before, and stood up, adjusting his body to the new position and the light drizzle moistening his face. He didn't focus on anything except that door, feeling uneasy as it loomed larger the closer he became. He didn't want to think about it, but the thought was clouding his mind and drowning out all other noise.

Edward hadn't been through this door, at this time of day, in ten years, five months, and twenty days.

One long breath later, Edward's hand was on the door handle. He pushed on the release, yanked backwards, and stepped through the archway, flinching when the door eventually whooshed shut behind him. Someone's heels clicked on the cheap tile floor, getting louder and louder until they suddenly stopped and made him think of Rosalie. He had a vague notion he would be forced to stand in that spot and, unable to run, watch as people walked towards him, their faces morphing into terrible apparitions of those he had ignored and avoided since he had graduated. Their presence at the reunion – and subsequent knowledge of his – put Edward on edge and he practically bolted towards the open art room door, perhaps slamming it a bit too forcibly in his haste to block imaginary demons out.

"Hello?" Bella called, her voice muffled from behind her office wall.

"It's, uh, me," Edward yelled back, clearing his throat before he continued, "Edward." He was fidgeting, his eyes darting throughout the space while his mind tried to imagine how he had appeared hunched over a desk at seventeen and if he had fully comprehended the significance of this room and who had sat beside him before he'd permanently left it.

"Hi," Bella breathed out, a smile flitting towards the corners of her lips and making Edward smile in return. His eyes soaked in the sight of her flushed face and wayward hair and he immediately thrust the bag of food between their awkwardly poised bodies, offering what he could to a girl he still felt like he needed to impress. "What did you get?" she asked, nose and fingers already searching his bounty.

Edward gripped his neck and shrugged, mildly embarrassed at the thought that he'd already chosen the wrong things. "A hamburger, a cheeseburger, French fries, and, um, strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla milkshakes."

"Oh?" she asked, one eyebrow raised in jest.

"Yeah, uh, I didn't know what you liked and, um, figured you could pick and choose." Bella laughed and Edward looked up, his earlier embarrassment slipping into social humiliation.

_Nice job, dickweed. You've been here less than five minutes and she's already laughing at you._

_Yeah, well, fuck. I knew this was a bad idea._

"…-fect. You wanna sit out here or in my office?" Edward looked up, confused. _Did I really just zone out?_ Bella's inquisitive glance only furthered his mortification.

"Here," he squeaked, clearing his throat in response, "is fine."

"Are you okay?" Bella asked, studying him as she placed the food at a desk and slowly pulled out a chair. Edward hesitated before shaking his head and walking towards their lunch. What he wanted to say wasn't technically lying. Not really, anyway.

"I haven't been here in… a while and I'm just a bit nervous," he stated, peaking at Bella and punctuating the quiet delivery with a serious plea for her to simply understand what he meant without asking too many questions. She paused, her hands lightly gripping the bag before deftly ripping the paper and separating the contents.

"We can go somewhere else if you're uncomfortable. I didn't even think about how being here might affect you, so my feelings won't be hurt if you want to leave." Her tone and posture indicated a level of nonchalance that, to Edward, indicated an honesty he found refreshing. It seemed that Bella truly _was_ taking the blame for his behavior and that she really _wouldn't_ find him at fault if he just confessed how much he wanted to get the fuck off Forks High property. Except, well…

_it's not just the place that's making you nervous, eh Cullen? A little vixen brunette getting your balls in a twist?_

Edward coughed to quiet his thought process and shrugged, grabbing a fry and shoving it into his mouth. "I think I'll be okay," he muttered, "as long as Rosalie doesn't sneak through the window and attack me." Bella, her mouth full of milkshake, choked in an attempt to agree with him.

"Yeah, well, I'm running," she stated, using the back of her hand to wipe any remaining milkshake from her face. "There is no way in hell I'm defending _you_ against Rosalie… no matter how much more I like you."

Edward chewed his hamburger (Bella had unselfishly taken the cheeseburger) and looked at her in concentration. She had the burger in one hand and three fries half-covered in milkshake in the other, the liquid slowly trailing down and threatening to cover her wrist. He was mesmerized with the erotic fantasies dancing behind his eyes (_Bella? check. Bella covered in chocolate? check. Licking said chocolate off of Bella's naked body? I think I need a minute…_) and, yet, more enthralled with her use of 'I like you' than his own perversions.

She obviously hadn't stuttered or blushed over the words, something that gave Edward hope that perhaps she really _did_ consider him a friend. But it was her honest use of the term, and obvious dismissal of its double meaning, that sent Edward's stomach in nauseating motion. She could actually _like_-him like-him and the normalcy with which she'd admitted the words only gave him confidence that the words was so engrained, so blissfully transcribed, that it was just second-nature to admit them.

The thought brought out a smile and Edward spent the rest of the hour stupidly nodding his head at whatever Bella was talking about, aware that, if she had stopped and asked, he would have no idea what the fuck she had been saying. Just watching her at ease and comfortable warmed him like only Peter had been able to do, and he knew that he would do whatever it took to keep her for himself, shower her with all the affection he had tucked away and bottled up until she simply asked him to stop.

He watched her laugh at her own joke and realized it was possible that he had fallen in love.

* * *

"Oh!" Bella gasped, one hand flying up to lightly slap herself on the forehead as she raced into her office and mumbled. Edward followed and leaned against the doorframe, smiling softly to himself as he watched her rifle through drawers and stacks of paper. "I can't believe I almost forgot! Bridget… Hamlin, do you remember her? Anyway, she had been saving this since you graduated and after I saw you at the reunion I just figured that, you know, there was no need for me to keep it anymore unless, well, you wanted to officially gift it to the school or something."

"What are you talking about?" Edward laughed.

"Here!" Bella sprang up, a charcoal drawing stuck delicately between sheets of tissue paper gestured out between them. "It's, um, something you made, senior year." Edward straightened himself, gingerly reached out for the drawing, and carefully pulled it out, his confusion slowly turning to muted appreciated.

"Holy shit," he breathed out, one hand splayed beneath the paper while the other faintly traced a portrait of Bella he'd used as his senior year mid-term project. Obviously neither teacher – first Mrs. Hamlin and now Miss Swan – fully comprehended the subject matter (Bella _had_ been in Edward's class and, frankly, he had been scared shitless when it came time to hand the assignment in, worried sick that someone besides himself would correctly interpret the angles and shading), but the care with which it had been preserved astounded him. "How did you…" he looked up, unsure of what he was exactly trying to ask.

"Remember she, like, loved this so much she had it displayed for months after we got back from winter break?" Edward nodded, curious about how much Bella actually remembered from their time spent together. "And then you made this off-handed comment about how much you didn't even like it during your last week in school?" He remembered the feelings of loathsome despair he'd felt as his days with Bella dwindled, how his inability to speak to her manifested into a profound hatred against the only likeness he'd let himself create. His eyes flew down to the portrait and he skimmed across it again, finally realizing how much he'd ultimately failed in keeping her out, before his focus shifted back to Bella and he nodded again, his throat constricting with the added emotion. "Well… she kept it and told me she always had a feeling about you… always thought you'd actually do something with your talent."

The air was swirling with tension and Edward couldn't concentrate on anything but the way his memories of Bella conflicted with the shared past she seemed to remember. "But," he started, pausing while the right words formed on his tongue, "how can you remember all that?" Bella's eyes narrowed and he pushed on. "We never even talked to one another… I always just assumed you hated me." Bella dropped her head and Edward saw a blush creep up her neck.

"It was, um, complicated," she mumbled. He opened his mouth to speak before she cut him off. "You never talked to me either. Am I to assume that you hated me, too?" Edward quickly shook his head, the movement causing a slight rustling of paper. Bella quirked her head in response, a small smile playing on her lips. "Or maybe that you were secretly in love with me and too scared to say anything?"

"No," Edward coughed, his face heating up with the implication. "Nothing of the, uh, sort." He saw Bella look dazedly over his shoulder, her mouth quickly frowning.

"Well, then, we shouldn't dwell."

"Right," he nodded, "no dwelling." Her subsequent turn away from him was just as confusing as her prior questions. Maybe diving head first into their past wasn't something to be taken lightly, but Edward knew he wouldn't have done it if he honestly thought Bella was just going to divert attention from her past behavior and then promptly drop the subject as if nothing odd had been brought up.

Either way, Edward wasn't fooled. He heard himself mumbling 'yes' when she asked – over her shoulder and still not facing him – if he wanted to keep the picture, and then began to over-think her abrupt dismissal of his observation almost immediately after.

_What makes our attempt at a friendship no longer 'complicated'? What's different now: the fact that I'm actively pursuing her instead of keeping my mouth shut and wallowing in secret?_

Even after Bella said 'goodbye' (a less enthusiastic parting with definitely no room for a kiss; Edward felt like they hadn't even made any progress at all with the flighty way she was behaving) and shooed him out of the art room – to the bemused expressions of three students already rummaging through drawers to get their work – the thought still gnawed at Edward's skull, transforming into every possible meaning and still not uncovering any kind of discernable answer. He walked out the red steel door, confusedly got into his car, and drove home still fighting with himself, only deciding upon one thing: there was no way Bella was avoiding him tomorrow.

* * *

"I have a plan for today, what do you think?" Edward glanced over at Peter, who returned his stare after weighing the pros and cons of which was better, _SpongeBob SquarePants_ or his uncle; Edward won.

"What kind of plan?" his voice hushed and rising in pitch with the added excitement.

"Well… it's nice out and the grown is relatively dry. What do you say we convince Bella to take us to the park?" Peter looked at him, one corner of his lip sucked in for concentration and his eyes unfocused on anything of interest. If the sight of Peter thinking so hard about a simple predicament weren't amusing enough, Edward's smile grew as he tapped into the effort with which his nephew debated the two outcomes.

"Okay," Peter responded, not even looking at Edward as he un-muted the television and let out a short giggle at the antics portrayed on screen.

"Okay," Edward repeated, settling himself further into the couch and stealing quick glances at Peter's rapt attention. They watched television until the doorbell startled both of their thoughts and Peter jumped off the couch, his elongated 'Bella!' only interrupted by a sudden quiet and then Bella's girlish laughter. Edward shut off the show and stood up, straightening couch cushions and his clothing in an attempt to hide his nerves. He didn't understand why he felt even a day away from Bella was much too long (how was he supposed to last the time it took to figure out where they would live?) but merely chalked it up to nerves. They weren't even technically dating yet and he knew he should jump that hurdle before attempting anything else.

"So what's this I hear about playing hooky?" Bella's face was trying to hide her amusement as Peter flitted towards the kitchen, already pulling on Esme's clothing and telling her of their plans.

"Just an idea," Edward said, his predatory smile causing a slight blush that didn't escape notice. "I thought that we could get out for a bit," he stepped closer, his hands affectionately rubbing her shoulders, "maybe spend sometime in a new," he paused, hearing her swallow and smiling wider when she looked down, "environment."

"Yes," Bella responded, her voice somewhere between a choked whisper and an unsure confirmation. Edward bent down to gently kiss her lips before moving away just as she went to deepen it.

"Good," he chuckled, stepping backwards and watching with amusement as she stumbled before righting herself. "I'll just go get my coat then." He felt the urge to wink back at her as he walked away, his smile deepening when he saw that she still hadn't looked up.

_This is gonna be too fucking easy_.

* * *

They rode in Bella's car, Edward taking the front seat and watching her out of the corner of his eye while he shot less-than enthusiastic 'yup's and 'mmhmm's Peter's way. The trip was short – almost everything within Forks was – and soon the car was parked and Peter out of it, running towards the small swing set that comprised one side of Tillicum Park.

"Peter!" Bella yelled in vain, her voice swallowed up by the growing distance and light autumn breeze.

"Let him," Edward chided, his hand fumbling for hers before she looked up and blushed. "It's good for him, to be out here. It probably doesn't happen all that often." Bella nodded and Edward squeezed their hands, the added pressure and turned glance conveying what he hadn't found the words to say. Settling on a bench close to Peter's infectious giggles and furious pumping, Bella kept her gaze locked on the small body while Edward's was off towards the abandoned baseball diamonds, one arm clasped tight against her back – its hand resting next to her thigh – while the other picked at the rotting wood of the bench.

"Edward?"

"Yeah," he responded, his voice's wayward direction matching her own.

"Have you thought about, you know, what's going to happen when you leave?" Her eyes were locked on Peter, not even moving when Edward dropped his head to her shoulder and planted a prolonged kiss against the stiff fabric of her jacket.

"A bit," he paused, his gaze shifting back towards the diamonds. "Why?"

Bella shrugged, the movement bringing her head down while she started to wring her hands in her lap. "I just keep thinking about how we're going to do this when you're gone." Edward wanted to frown at the insinuation that she was already preparing herself for when he would eventually leave – as if she already knew they couldn't last within their current situation – but then he realized that same part was thinking ahead to a possible future. If she didn't want to be with him, why would she be so worried about his absence?

"Would you care to define _this_?" he teased, his arms encircling her in a hug while his lips found purchase with her jaw.

"Edward!" she huffed, trying to win against her losing battle. "You know what I mean!" He paused, lips hovering against her pulse point, and smiled before leaving one last kiss and unhooking his right arm.

He started mock-seriously, "So… does that mean that you would agree to our status as a… couple?" Edward went back to their previous position, his left hand creeping up her hip as she squirmed and blushed beneath him.

"I suppose that… yes, I would consider us… together."

"Well, then," he paused, feeling pangs of happiness shoot through him as he mulled the idea over in his brain, "were you going to tell me this change in status or was I just going to walk blindly about, unsure of where I stood with you?" Edward smiled at her embarrassment, a blush he found quite appealing deepening as she lowered her head and lost whatever strength she'd possessed yesterday.

"Yes, I mean– it's just that, uh, I hadn't really thought about it at all except… just now, while we were sitting here and, um…"

"Bella!" Edward laughed, planting a loud kiss against her temple. "I was only kidding, you know." She looked up and huffed in response, her feeble attempts to straighten up and push away his affections proving fruitless as he simply gripped tighter. "You're just so easy to tease;" he whispered against her ear, eliciting a chill that only spurred him forward, "sometimes I just can't help myself."

Bella leaned into Edward's side, her gaze shifting back towards Peter the longer they sat in comfortable silence. Edward gently caressed her arm in no discernable pattern, completely forgetting about all the questions she had stirred up during yesterday's lunch as she sighed into him and then rested her right hand against his thigh, drawing small circles with her thumb without even paying the action any attention. He turned his head towards his nephew, smiling faintly at the kind of childish exuberance only possible from one's own leg muscles and the highest swing available, and then rested his lips against Bella's hair, smelling a scent he could bathe in forever.

Edward briefly wondered about all the possible ways he could have this exact moment, settling on his favorite and elaborating it into existence: a hot July afternoon while he sat next to Bella as she watched their son play, interminably feeling their daughter's heartbeat as she kicked and squirmed beneath his splayed fingertips. He closed his eyes and sighed, knowing that just being here with Bella was good enough.

* * *

Edward heard it before he found the source – a loud, boisterous guffaw careening across the dead grass as he slowly opened his eyelids and reluctantly shifted against Bella's stilled presence. Peter had long ago skidded to a stop against the small pebbles, shooting puffs of gray dust into the air before it was swallowed up by the moisture, and had wandered towards the meek jungle gym, his tongue seeking refuge against his upper lip as he swung and concentrated his way across the monkey bars. His small hands were turning red and on the verge of blisters and yet, Edward sat with unfocused attention, not fretting for Peter's safety as Bella was. His head was cocked, his ear straining for the tinkling of words as he narrowed his eyes in focus, a loud whoosh escaping his chest when he finally spied the disturbance.

Emmett McCarty was playfully keeping a red jelly ball out of reach, his dimples in full force as he laughed and sauntered his way past the playground. A group of boys shrieked and ran in circles, chasing each other at the same time they moved towards the center baseball diamond. Peter dropped to his feet, his hands slapping his thighs and momentarily forgotten.

"Bell-uh!" he cried, sprinting towards his destination and huffing loudly as he tried to get air into his lungs at the same time he began to force words out. "Can I go and play with them?" Bella hesitated for a moment, her head turning slightly towards Edward's tensed posture.

"Um, I suppose so. Edward?" she questioned, giving Peter's stare duel focus as it quickly flitted between the both of them.

"Sure, kid," he stated, his concentration back and focused. "Why don't you head over there and Bella and I will catch up?"

"Kay!" he shot over his shoulder, running as fast as his six-year-old legs could carry. "Hey Tommy! Billy! Wait up!" his voice dying with the distance.

"You okay with this?" Bella asked, standing up and brushing off the backs of her thighs. Edward followed her movement, stretching his limbs as far as they could go above his head before loudly dropping them.

"Yeah, I guess." He stopped, looking out towards the beginnings of a game, and then turned back towards Bella at the feel of her gloved hand against his cheek. "We can just sit on the bleachers, right?" Bella nodded, grabbing his hand and interlacing their fingers. She squeezed once before careening into his side and placing her free hand against his bicep. Edward looked down at her choice of position and smiled, shaking his head when he realized how silly he felt, how blissfully happy and silly everything had turned out to be.

When they made it closer to the game, they quickly veered to the left, walking around the small fence before finally reaching their intended bleacher. There were about fifteen boys in total (ranging in age from Peter's six to what looked to be about twelve), and they were spaced haphazardly around the diamond, their level of enthusiasm, skill, and stature more comical than anything else – especially when a younger boy would grope for the kicked ball and then stand still, shock clearly written on his face as his body registered that a ball had actually been caught. After about ten minutes of one team's rotation, Emmett called the last strike and the teams switched, Peter running full-speed towards the makeshift line and waving excitedly at both Bella and Edward.

At his turn, Bella began clapping wildly out-of-character (to Edward, at least; she had done nothing but blush and quietly flirt since they'd been together), prompting an almost obnoxious shout from Edward, complete with a pompous nod and hands cupped around his mouth. "Hey, Peter! Show these boys what a real Cullen can do!" he yelled. Peter's broad smile did nothing to diminish Bella's light slap against his adjacent thighs.

"Edward! He's six!"

"Yeah?" he smiled crookedly. "I was pretty fucking badass at six." Bella opened her mouth to respond before Edward stood up and loudly cheered, sticking two fingers in his mouth and whistling. Once Peter made it safely to first-base, he turned towards his chaperones and waved.

At four-thirty, Emmett rounded up his troops and gave them a quiet pep talk around the darkening pitcher's mound, ruffling Peter's wind-blown hair just as they came off the reddish-brown soot. Peter ran to Bella and, with one hand around her thigh, began animatedly explaining how the game worked and what he'd done to contribute.

"Hey, Bella!" Emmett projected, jogging over to the pair as Edward watched about ten feet away, his concentration distracted from the phone he was talking into. "It's good to see you," he hugged her, patting twice against her back, "it's nice to see Peter out in more than just warm weather."

"Yeah, well," she huffed, "it wasn't my idea."

"It was Uncle Edward's!" Peter chimed in, jumping a bit in his excitement. "He's staying at the house and said that we should try and convince Bella to take us to the park. He likes being with her so I think he had as much fun as I did." Bella blushed, causing Emmett to laugh quietly. He dropped to one knee, engaging Peter in serious discussion.

"Tell me, Peter," he glanced up at Bella and then dropped his gaze back down, "you like having your Uncle Edward around?" Peter nodded vigorously before Emmett continued. "And you think that Uncle Edward likes being around too?"

"Yup," he nodded back.

"Well, then… come here, buddy. I have something special I need you to do." Emmett stood up, flashing Bella a dimpled wink before walking no more than ten feet away and folding back down again, his mouth to Peter's ear and both of their gazes darting towards Bella as they secretly conversed. Edward finished his phone call and walked towards Bella with trepidation, keeping his focus on Emmett and Peter while he wrapped his arms around her torso and gave her a soft kiss against her cheek.

"What's up with them?" he asked, settling his chin in the crook of her neck.

"Like I would tell you," she teased, giggling as Edward went straight for her ribs.

"You would," he chided, his breath hot against her skin while his fingers danced against her jacket and still produced their intended effect.

"No, ah! I wouldn't," Bella squealed, twisting and turning until she was face-to-face with Edward. His ministrations stopped with the added tension.

"No, you would," he admonished, deftly gripping her face with both hands and going in for a kiss. He didn't care that people were milling about and wedging their way into his subconscious, he didn't notice that their public conversations had lowered to whispered gossip about _Bella_ and whomever she happened to be kissing (_a fine-looking piece of ass if there ever was one in this god-forsaken town_), and he certainly didn't anticipate the sincere greeting Emmett showcased when the two lovebirds came up for air.

"Um, hey, Edward," Emmett started, his eyes darting everywhere but his statement's subject.

"Emmett," Edward nodded back, one arm resting protectively around Bella's shoulder while the other lightly caressed Peter's hair as his nephew clamped against his leg.

"It's good to, uh, see that you're back." _It's been too long, man, too fucking long. _"I wanted to, you know, apologize. For Rosalie." Edward barked out a laugh and Emmett looked up sheepishly. "She comes on a bit strong, you know?" _Of course you know. Shit, I mean, you fucking _dated_ her…_

"Don't worry about it," Edward replied, his eyes a bit too focused on what Emmett wasn't saying out loud. "I'm sure that she honestly means well." The two men stared at each other before Emmett realized Edward was joking. The former's unfettered laugher broke their twelve-year-old tension as if all that was needed to forgive was some forced distance and an unplanned meeting such as theirs.

"We should get together some time," Emmett answered, his laughter dying down to a faint smile as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ringing cell phone. "Maybe get a beer or something." He studied the phone before lifting his head, waiting for Edward's answer.

"Sure," he replied, acknowledging Emmett's nod as he walked away and huffed into the phone. "You ready, squirt?" Edward shifted direction, ruffling Peter's hair as he lowered his head to make eye contact. Peter nodded and grabbed Edward's hand, the three connected bodies moving silently across the park until they reached Bella's car and strapped their bodies in.

Edward unashamedly held Bella's hand the whole drive home, a small smile staying on his lips and growing bigger the more he recognized their afternoon for what it had turned out to be: a simple urge in the pit of his stomach to move back to Forks and settle down. It gnawed at his insides, spreading like brushfire through his veins and sparking pinpricks of warmth as a chill raced down his spine. It was almost as if, walking back to _their _car so they could go to _their_ home, Peter, Bella, and Edward had behaved like a family. He snuck a glance at Bella and she looked over at the same time, a smile caressing her face instead of her usual blush.

He wondered, briefly, if she had felt it too.


	10. Intentional Deception

**A/N**: _I feel like I should preface this chapter with a warning to, you know, be aware of The Angst. It's been a relatively turbulent-free ride so far, but I purposefully labeled this story as 'angst' and 'romance'. Also, a link to a picture of Bella's house is on my profile._

* * *

Even though Edward thought about Bella every moment he wasn't otherwise engaged in his hometown of Forks (forgetting that she took up residence in his mind when he _was _occupied in some other fashion), she declined any plea for them to get together between their departure Thursday afternoon and a planned date on Sunday. He might have found this odd or even potentially nerve-racking had he felt less happy than he was admitting. But, in some way – lounging around the house, wrestling with Peter, practicing the piano, laying in bed late at night and failing to control hormones that made him feel like a frustrated teenager with nothing to thrust but his hand – Bella was always smiling when he thought of her. Her idiosyncrasies dissipated and he realized that his long-overdue contentment was simply too enticing to ruin with vague suspicions and unanswerable questions.

That didn't mean, however, that Edward didn't notice how Bella could behave so openly towards him and then, in the same vein, almost shut down completely. The way she clammed up and refused to answer seemingly simple questions alerted him to the odd behavior he'd been subject to in high school and then again during the reunion. Believing that what they shared at present was too good to risk fracture, though, prompted Edward to simply ignore the parts of Bella's behavior that he couldn't explain (as people in love are want to do).

As a result, he took to moping around the house until Esme shooed him out on Sunday morning and demanded he spend some time with men older than six. Edward nervously called both Emmett and Jasper, meeting up with them at noon to commence a four-person tag-football game while ankle deep in snow. Edward and Jasper eventually won against Emmett and Carlisle (Edward _did_ have a secret advantage his reluctant concentration on the game allowed him to use) and then, by four o'clock, he was restless again.

The reservation he had made at Bella Italia was for eight o'clock and both he and Bella had agreed on letting her drive, something which gave Edward two-and-a-half hours to stress out and annoy his parents as they sat in the family room and conspiratorially laughed at his adolescent behavior. Their unspoken thought that he hadn't acted this way about a girl since he was fourteen and courting Rosalie was not lost on Edward, and he escaped to his own bedroom to try and work off some steam. He was nervous and felt consistent push-ups and sit-ups to be an appropriate stress reliever (over less publically embarrassing and positively messy activities he was far too grown-up to entertain). He didn't even care that, if someone were to get kind-of close, they might think he maybe smelled a bit, because endorphins were pumping through his blood stream and sending shots of adrenaline throughout as he paced, tapped his feet, and loudly sighed against his third-story window.

At the first sign of headlights, Edward slapped on more deodorant and ran down three flights of stairs, yelling 'goodbye' before he stood in front of the front door and gulped air into his lungs. He counted to three after Bella had daintily pressed her horn and then casually walked outside and down the short stone walkway.

He was going to say 'I love you' tonight, and he needed to keep his cool.

* * *

The car ride – a languid and comfortable affair – passed in relative silence, the dial tuned to muted classical while Bella and Edward slipped into and out of conversation, bringing up topics as randomly as they ceased back into a simple awareness of the other. Aside from their first date more than a week ago, Edward had never spent this much alone-time with Bella – let alone someone he liked in a romantic way or even anybody he thought he might _love_ (aside from Rosalie and, well, that was _before_ and had turned out so terribly that Edward didn't like to think about it unless someone explicitly thrust their relationship into verbal conversation) – and he was drunk on the conflicting feelings bubbling their way to the surface.

Aside from the obvious distraction that Bella had always provided since her introduction into – and subsequent fast, yet secret, domination of – Edward's psyche, he giddily allowed himself to drown in her silent mind. He had never understood why she (of all people he had ever encountered since his accident) was immune to his gift, but he didn't like to think too hard on the particulars. Was he attracted to her _because_ he couldn't hear her thoughts? Or was that simply a bonus? He only went down that path once (a violently depressing day right after he started college and was almost unbearably homesick for something he couldn't yet define), and the torrid trip down memory lane only brought on inexplicable awareness and the potential for a migraine. He had suddenly realized that he first noticed Bella in art class… and he was only _in_ art class because he couldn't be anywhere else… and he was forced to avoid 'anywhere else' because of his accident… and then he didn't want to think of the time-warp mind-fuck threatening to spiral out of control and further consume his life. So he had resolutely decided to just regret not speaking _to_ Bella and, conversely, regret an infernal annoyance he hadn't learned to control in the bustling city of New York, and not ever think about how he had met Bella in the first place. That decision would just remain up to fate or chance, two concepts Edward wasn't even sure he actually believed in.

At this point in his life, just being near Bella and having the ability to open his mouth at the first notice of possible conversation was something he had always wished for but never really given himself the chance to pine after. And now, sitting in a car on his way to a restaurant so he could go on a date with her, Edward was happy and couldn't focus on anything besides the woman who seemed to want to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her. Did it matter that all his senses were in-tune with her subtle movements, gentle sighs, and intoxicating scent and not, under any circumstances, on the thoughts of others?

As much as he found the change partially annoying (he _had_ gotten used to his ability even if he hadn't meant to), it was almost as if he had to concentrate at double the level just to get anything back. Bella's mind was closed to him and he wanted nothing more than to just know what she was thinking. His usual awareness, then, was dimmed and tucked away, the potential flood of noise not even registering if he just stared at Bella long enough and tried desperately to read the play of emotions that constantly flitted across her face. He could never tell her, but he wanted to cry with joy when they stepped into the restaurant and he noticed that the thoughts swirling around them had transmuted into companionable background noise.

Edward didn't have to tune them out; now, with Bella, he had to strain to tune them _in_.

* * *

"Your server, Kate, will be right with you," their hostess smirked. Edward caught a hint of malice lacing her thoughts and then Bella's foot was creeping up his pant leg and it was gone. He nodded, coughed, and subtly pushed his legs forward, giving her greater access as he blatantly ignored the gesture above the table.

"Are you above ordering a bottle of wine?" Edward asked, his gaze searching the small wine list for something that sounded interesting.

"I don't drink," she replied, keeping her eyes on the unfolded menu as her shoeless foot traveled further up his thigh.

"Well… that settles that, then," he chuckled, shifting against the seat when she reached his crotch and playfully pushed.

"Yup," she popped, eyes peaking over and onto Edward, who was carrying a faint blush and tightly gripping his menu. When she dipped lower, one hand flew towards her foot and gently removed it while Edward raised his eyebrows against what he perceived to be uncharacteristic foreplay. Bella merely smirked and went back to reading, both feet vying for the chance to send him over the edge before dessert. Edward spread his legs, gripping both of her ankles in one hand, and stilled them against the seat.

"Bella," he warned. "Are you trying to get me arrested?" _We don't mind if you do!_ his balls sang out; Edward gripped her ankles harder in response.

"No," she pouted, "but you can't fault a girl for trying." She didn't look up, keeping her feet still as he lowly groaned at her admission. When his eyes zeroed in on the entrée he had ordered the last time they were here, he flipped his menu closed and loosened his hold on Bella's legs, slowly raising his hand until she showed no sign of movement.

"Can I get you something to drink?" their server, Kate, asked, coyly staring at Edward as he licked his lips before responding.

"Water's fine, thanks."

"And for you?" she turned towards Bella. If Edward had been paying attention, he might have realized that Kate actually seemed to pay attention to his date – not stare at her in disdain or look at Edward as something she wanted to take home and ravish. Of course, Bella's feet had started moving and he was consumed with the question of how Bella managed to so thoroughly grope him without using her hands and yet still make it seem like her concentration above the table wasn't compromised.

"Water, please. And can I have lemon with that?"

"Of course!" Kate replied, smiling wide and shooting Edward a glance before turning back to Bella. "I'll be back in a few moments and I just _love_ that shirt!" Bella blushed and Edward stilled his movements, finding his fingers succumbing to the warmth against him without his mind's permission.

Their conversation, although just as infrequent as the words spoken on the car ride to Port Angeles, was infused with Bella's unspoken promise of what could happen outside the restaurant. Edward – not inexperienced at the sexual side of a romantic relationship but clearly terrified of how sex would function now that he wanted to see his partner in the morning – was itching to question the new turn Bella was driving them towards as much as he begged his mind to shut down and simply enjoy the ride. Whatever Bella had up her sleeve, Edward could do it, even if he felt silly or the act called into question most of his emotional insecurities.

So focused on what he would possibly get to experience later (and thoroughly drunk off not having to really even tune out his telepathy), Edward remained one step behind Kate as she sidled up against his side of the booth.

"You're Edward Cullen, right?" Kate asked, twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she jutted her hip out and rested her free arm just behind Edward's head.

"What?" he questioned, turning his head with effort. Bella had left for the bathroom almost a minute ago and he'd used the time to daydream, his initial concerns about their current relationship sneaking into his progressively dirtier fantasies. The thoughts crowding him had been tuned down to the point of silence and simply turning his head to address Kate took more effort than it should have.

"Edward Cullen, from Forks?" Edward nodded, using her voice to anchor himself in the moment. "I'm Kate… Jackson? Irina's sister?" He had to admit that she'd did kind of look familiar now that he was staring at her, and a genuine smile broke out on his face when he realized who she was and how much he'd always liked the Jackson sisters – even if they tittered and gossiped about him once he'd hit puberty and Tanya was out of earshot.

"Yeah, yeah… how are you?" The question was an honest one, at least coming from Edward in the middle of his date with Bella. He'd all but forgotten how inseparable Irina and Tanya had been before the Jacksons moved away when Irina was eighteen and Kate twelve, and he let himself concentrate on what Kate was saying instead of the thoughts brewing beneath. They hadn't seen each other in more than thirteen years and it was nice having someone to talk to who knew (and possible cared for) him before his accident.

"Good, I'm really good," Kate smiled, leaning closer against Edward and then not moving back when the waitress walking behind her had passed. "I've been trying to desperately place your face all night and then it just came to me and I _had_ to say something. I hope you don't mind me monopolizing your date?" Her question was laced with a flirtatious undertone that Edward missed, too preoccupied with their many shared summers to do much more than keep up with their verbal conversation.

"No, not at all!" he responded. "You live around here? Tanya hasn't even mentioned Irina at all… is your family back, too?"

"Just me," she sheepishly smiled. "Irina stayed in Connecticut after college and then got married and bought a house near our parents. I went to college in Portland and have been moving around since I graduated. I only planned to visit Forks and then I kind of got nostalgic, you know?"

"Without a doubt," Edward mused, further turning his body to face hers. With one leg folded on the seat, his hand absentmindedly brushed up against Kate's fingers. "I came back for my ten-year reunion, intending to stay the weekend and then I just couldn't leave. I don't even have plans to head back… just playing it by ear."

"New York?" she asked, one knee bending up and sliding next to Edward's. "Tanya might have mentioned you were some world-famous painter or something."

"New York," he nodded. "But no, I'm not world-famous," he added with a laugh, the comment causing more energy to shift towardshis own thoughts instead of hers. "I don't know where Bella went…but can I have your number or something? My mom will be out of her skin to know you're close by."

"Sure!" Kate answered without even thinking.

Edward drummed his fingertips on the table as he watched her rifle through her apron pocket and pull out a pad of paper and a pen. He was vaguely aware of her play-by-play instructions while she wrote down her cell and home phone numbers _and_ her e-mail address, too wrapped up in her full pink lips and long straight nose. It wasn't that he thought anything besides '_Wow, she definitely grew up since the last time I saw her_' in a general 'I haven't seen someone in more than a decade and I should be able to look at them objectively and comment on their beauty' kind of way. But her blond hair was loose and fanning her face, her cheeks were delicately stained pink, and her stance while writing pushed her arms against her body and, in consequence, made her already visible cleavage obvious.

The old Edward – the one wasting his life in New York and content to fuck anything half as pretty as Kate if he was drunk enough – would have casually suggested they meet when she was done with her shift. They would have gone back to her place and had emotionless sex resulting in a screaming orgasm (on her end; he was very fond of manly grunts if he paid enough attention to himself and not the naked woman writhing beneath him – which rarely was the case). And then he would have left the next morning and thought nothing of the act or how he had behaved.

But the new Edward – the one sitting in a booth in Port Angeles and ready and willing to verbalize his emotional need for a girl he'd spent ten years lusting after – was incredibly turned on by the visual stimuli Kate was offering. Her lips were nice, but paled in comparison to Bella's and all the erotic things he had already imagined them doing; her hair looked soft, but he preferred brunettes; and Kate's obvious plea for greater tips only reminded him of how demure Bella was… and how pleasing it would eventually be to slowly peal her clothing off.

"Here," Kate interrupted, thrusting the piece of paper between then. Edward took it and then slid it into his pocket without a second glance.

"It was really nice to see you," he responded, shifting his hips so his growing erection wasn't so noticeable.

"Yeah," she agreed. After a pause, she straightened up and stuck out her hand, "It was nice seeing you too."

"Are you kidding?" Edward scoffed, shaking his head with the absurdity that one of his oldest friends would settle for a handshake. "My mother will shoot me if I let you walk away with a fucking handshake, Kate. You know me better than that." She smirked and leaned over, biting her lip before quickly pulling him in for a hug.

"I do," she whispered, tickling his ear with her breath. "I just thought you forgot."

"Ha!" he laughed into her neck. He squeezed once more before softly patting her shoulder blades and pulling away slightly. Kate moved backwards as well, placing a chaste kiss against his cheek before they had fully extracted their limbs from each other's.

"I'll go see about your food, okay?" she stated, her voice low in an attempt to break a tension Edward was practically oblivious to – he'd left Kate as her unofficial big brother and it was going to take a lot more time to erase that status completely. And even if that wasn't the case, he still had Bella, her unknown presence within the restaurant only furthering what little desire he actually felt to spend time with Kate removing the un-sexual taint their former preteen relationship implied.

"Yeah, sure," he smiled, a faint laugh escaping when he sat alone once more and could actually process the unusual turn his night out had just taken. He cupped himself and shifted, trying to find comfort within his fitted jeans and wishing Bella would come back and tease him with her bare feet again. As much as he spoke otherwise, he would gladly face law enforcement for indecent exposure if Bella were the one prompting such a hasty and public release.

* * *

"Hey, Bella, what took you so long?" Edward asked, his voice jovial with the extra warmth he'd found reminiscing. He had started his sentence as soon as he felt Bella's body behind him but then his eyes glanced up to take in her form and the easy grin he wore was lost completely. She was tense – her hands balled into fists and stoic against her lightly vibrating torso – and her eyes looked wet as if one wrong move would start a crying fit. "Bella?" he swallowed, wanting to reach out but not knowing what good would come of it.

"What was that about?" she gritted through her teeth, her knuckles straining with the added pressure she exerted.

"What was what about?" Edward ventured, eyes darting along her body and then settling back on her face. "Are you okay?"

"No, _Edward_, I'm not okay." Bella narrowed her eyes further and then she closed them briefly before speaking again. "Are you going to tell me what just happened between you and _Kate_ or were you going to keep that from me until I came home one day and found you fucking her in our bed?" Her chest was heaving and her argument made absolutely no sense to Edward as he tried not to become immediately defensive at her insinuations.

_Whoa, Cullen… what the _fuck_ have you gotten yourself into with his one?_

_Fuck! I don't even know what she's talking about!_

"Bella," he softly said, his tone as placating as the arm that reached out to soothe her. "I don't understand what you're talking about." Her forearm tensed at the contact and Edward immediately dropped his hand, balling it into a fist before it sat uselessly on the plastic seat between them. "Why don't you sit down and explain everything to me." He felt cornered, wanting desperately to back away slowly with his hands raised in surrender while knowing that he would only be scooting towards a wall and making things worse. Giving up what valuable space he had (as much as the act would defer power to Bella) somehow felt more vulnerable than the way they were conversing right now.

"Really," she seethed, the quiet of her voice giving no indication to the malice that laced it, "I'm pretty sure that _this_ explains everything." One of Bella's hands flittered towards his pocket and ripped out the folded piece of paper Kate had just given him. With trembling hands, she opened it and laughed bitterly, a sob choking up an otherwise flawless façade of anger. "I _knew_ this was a bad idea," she began muttering, grabbing her coat and purse and swiftly walking away from their table.

Edward was torn between running after her and stewing in his confused malcontent. He knew what betrayal felt like, had played host to that emotion his junior year in high school watching his ex-girlfriend and former best friend grow into a social power couple as he further withdrew from his peers and desperately tried to grapple just how fucked up his life had become. But what scared Edward most – and what froze him to the seat – was that Bella had just executed a part he had never been able to play. She, the scorned and heartbroken lover trying to understand her former betrothed's reasons for straying, while he had been shunned into silence, feeling mildly guilty and needing to know what she had seen to make her doubt his true affections.

Edward glanced down at the crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it out just as his eyes caught the full weight of its written message.

_Eddie,_

_I never saw you as an older brother – not after I realized you kissed someone without me and certainly not after I saw you in a bathing suit the summer before we moved. Here's to starting some firsts together?_

_I get off work at eleven… I'll be waiting._

_Kate (503) 555 2860 _

The breath he'd taken caught in his throat and the paper lightly rustled before he realized his hands were shaking. He crumbled it up a second time and started to slide out of the booth as his right arm gripped his jacket and pulled it behind him.

"Pasta primavera?" a man's voice asked, standing at the end of the table and looking to Edward in bored expectation.

"Um, what?" he looked up dazed, one foot already out of the booth and his free hand gripping the back of his seat for leverage. "That's not– fuck." He grasped the bridge of his nose and tried to reel in his anger before he spoke. "We won't be needing those anymore."

"I'm sorry?" the man questioned, straightening up as he looked at Edward and then back at the food.

"Can you bring those back to the kitchen or something? We're not going to eat them." The requests were strained through Edward's growing frustration and his fingers had migrated to his temples, the skin of his face pulled taut with the effort it took for him to remain outwardly calm.

"Do you want them… wrapped up?"

"No!" Edward yelled. "Just please take them away," he smiled faintly, the expression morphing back into a grimace once the man finally left. Edward stood up and began to weave his way out of the restaurant, shrugging on his coat when there was sufficient space to do so.

"Are you leaving?" Kate asked, her manicured fingers lightly resting on his forearm in a flirtatious attempt to stop him. _The _least_ I should get out of this is a good fuck _she thought, her eyes wide as they appraised his clenched jaw and tensed forearm. _That girl was kind of pretty… I hope I didn't ruin anything serious... I mean, what the fuck kind of problem does she have with Edward anyway? Making me do her dirty work for her…_

The silent insinuation that someone besides Kate was involved in the events that had just happened sent Edward over the edge and he snapped, realizing that Bella had been set up just as much as he had. He briefly wondered if everything that Kate had said to him had merely been part of her act, but then brushed the thought aside, too furious at her cruel juvenile behavior to dwell on his naïveté.

"That was a nice stunt you pulled, Kate," he sneered out, jerking his hand down and away from her. "Please don't ever fucking call me." He pushed through the restaurant doors and immediately turned towards the parking lot, noticing fresh tire tracks against the still falling snow.

_Fuck! _Edward seethed, grinding his jaw and squeezing his fingers into already clenched palms. It was dark, but he swiftly made it to the spot where Bella had parked and stood in the now-vacant space, huffing white puffs as his eyes roamed the slushy precipitation and tire tracks.

_Fuck. Me. Fuck. Me. Fuck. Me._

The chant was soothing as he stomped down the sidewalk and fumbled with his phone.

"Yes, I need a cab. Bella Italia in Port Angeles." He flipped the phone shut and started to pace in front of the restaurant, not caring about who could see him or what they may or may not have witnessed. After five minutes of waiting, Edward walked further down the street and dialed Bella's number, cursing her when she didn't answer and he heard the start of her voicemail. He didn't know what to do until the cab arrived, hardly noticing the violent tracks he pressed into the snow, so frequently retracing his steps that he wore down the lightly coated sidewalk until the black asphalt showed no sign of ever having been wet.

Edward had consciously left the restaurant without paying and was too preoccupied to even notice that no one had come outside screaming for payment. He was sure, however, that if anyone had, he would have gotten right in their face and used his six-foot two-inch stature and angry, slightly psychotic stare to push them back into the building with nothing more than a 'sorry, sir; didn't mean to bother you, sir' directed towards him. He was furious: too blinded by the false trust he'd placed in Kate, the blinders he'd worn because of Bella, and his own self-hatred threatening to reclaim its place of honor.

So, when he saw an empty cab roll to a stop in front of him, he simply jumped into the back seat and practically shouted at the driver.

"Six-fifty Klahndike Boulevard, Forks."

"Forks?" the man questioned back.

"Yes," Edward spat out. "Will you take me there or should I call another fucking cab?" His tone was bitter and too angry for the man's innocent question, but the man merely shrugged and used the restaurant parking lot to turn the car around before he could start the sixty-mile journey to Edward's destination.

Edward sat slumped in the back seat, his shoulders finally sagging with all the weight he'd been holding up. He leaned his head against the window and stared blankly ahead as scenery rushed by.

He called Bella six times in the hour and ten minutes it took for them to reach the curb outside of her small house. With each successive try, he heard her voicemail until finally the short message wasn't even preceded by a ring. He shut the phone in exasperation and leaned back against the leather seat.

He didn't know what he would say to her, but he was determined to stay and fight.

* * *

Edward stood at the end of Bella's driveway, his eyes darting between her crooked parking job and the porch light that cast an eerie glow against the darkened house. The taxi hadn't been excessively loud, but the street was quiet and it was nearing ten o'clock; Edward figured that Bella should have been aware of her late night visitor even if she didn't immediately show it.

He slowly walked up the stone walkway and then crossed the one concrete step separating him from her doorbell. His fingers were constantly in motion, flexing and then balling into fists as he ground his teeth together and stood motionless before her front door.

_If I ring the doorbell, will she even answer? If she answers, will I be able to explain myself? If I tell the truth, will she believe me?_

The doubts were swirling, stripping Edward's confidence as much as they gave him a legitimate reason to defend himself. Hadn't he come to Forks to try and win Bella's affections? When she denied him a first date in Jasper's office, didn't he say 'fuck it' and stay regardless? Whenever she showed an ounce of hesitation, didn't he give her a reason to trust that his affections were sincere?

Edward stood stoic in the muted artificial light and realized that he had never truly fought for anything he absolutely wanted. Sure, he strove for satisfaction and accomplished almost everything he set out to do, but had he ever _really_ worked all that hard to keep something if the best chance he had was for failure? The answer – a resounding 'no' – sent his left arm flying towards the doorbell until he heard it buzzing from within the house.

Edward made a promise to himself almost three weeks ago the minute he'd agreed to attend that stupid fucking reunion. And, in light of everything he had gained and everything he had yet to lose, he was damned well willing to uphold his word.

The door swung open, catching Edward's finger still pressed against the doorbell until the sight of Bella stopped the noise and his arm reached for the back of his neck instead, his hand rubbing the skin raw in its intensity.

"What?" Bella spit out, her frame blocking the now open space and tensed up with her anger. Edward suddenly wondered whether it was meant for him or herself.

"I, uh, came to apologize," he answered, tentatively making eye contact while his quiet voice failed to match the frustration he'd been feeling for the better part of two hours.

"Oh, _really_, Edward," Bella snorted, her stuffed-up nose and puffy eyes betraying her indifferent sarcasm. "You want to apologize?" she asked, flailing her arms and scoffing at the suggestion. "Apologize for leading me on? For the ten years you supposedly missed the fact that we hardly shared one word with each other?" She was ranting, her face suddenly emotionless while she took steps toward him and began to slowly push him off the porch. "Apologize because I'm easy to manipulate and was the one person you never got a chance to _fuck_?" Edward dropped his hand at her insinuation and hung his head, not knowing how to respond even though the accusations were false. "Was this just a game to you, Edward? A fun thing to keep you occupied while you made up reasons to stay here? Is everything you told me a lie?" She pushed his chest, tearing up even as her voice stayed level. "Please, Edward. Please tell me what the fuck I'm supposed to believe now."

Edward stood still, the moments following her outburst heightened with the nighttime silence and falling snow. He stared at their feet before he heard Bella sobbing and tentatively looked up, still wanting to do nothing but stop her pain – even if that meant he had to leave and never come back again.

"Please, Bella," he started, reaching out before a fresh sob broke free and stilled his arms against his side. "Bella, please," his voice coming out weak and pleading. Edward lifted his arms again and tentatively touched her shoulders, emboldened by her failure to tense up or shrug him off. "Please," he pleaded, his voice softer as he took a step toward her while pulling her shaking form in. "Tell me what happened, Bella. I need to know what happened before I can fix this."

Bella's crying stopped before Edward was being pushed back and left staring at her accusatory finger.

"Every damn day I sat next to you and desperately wished you would talk to me, ask me out, anything. Did you know that?" Her finger was jabbed into his chest and he tried to say something before she continued, cutting him off. "But I knew, _knew_ that if we got involved you would betray me."

"Bella, I–"

"No," she stated, her voice cold and devoid of any emotion. "I knew this was going to happen and I did it anyway, okay? I put myself on the line thinking that maybe– maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time you would prove me wrong." Bella dropped her finger but still stared at Edward, her eyes no longer showing any signs of struggle. "And now I'm done."

Bella was halfway to her door before Edward sprinted towards her hunched over form and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around until she was practically being held up by his grip alone.

"Bella, listen to me," he begged, slightly shaking her and feeling her muscles tense up in response. "It was a mistake, okay? It was a mistake to trust her and a mistake to get her phone number and a fucking mistake that is making me stand here and beg you to believe me." Edward paused, leaning over to search her eyes and discern whether she was even listening. "I love you, Bella. Only you. You have to understand that it's only ever been you."

Bella's face moved in slow motion as it slightly raised and looked at him head on. Edward slightly let go of her shoulders, aware that he had done it – had finally proved the love he'd fought so long to control – before he noticed her lack of an expression. Noticed that the Bella who had just been screaming at him, the Bella who had sobbed and demanded an explanation for his own mistaken behavior, wasn't there anymore. He was holding onto a body without the person within and the fact that Bella could stand there without actually _being_ there scared him even more.

Edward's hands drifted to her biceps and he lightly squeezed. "Bella?" he asked, his voice soft and at odds with his guilty conscience.

Bella blinked before speaking, the small involuntary act stripping away any emotion that lingered until she looked at Edward with apathy. She took a step back and spoke, her voice cold and very unfeeling. "Please go, Edward. I don't want to see you again." She swiftly turned around and started up the walkway, reaching the doorframe before Edward caught up with her and grabbed her shoulder.

"Bella?"

"I think you've said enough for one night," she responded, not even glancing at his close presence before shrugging off his hold and walking straight into her house, slamming the door behind her.

Edward stood on her porch in inexplicable confusion. Everything he'd thought he understood on the car ride over had just been torn apart and made worse by his attempt to set things straight. He couldn't understand how one misunderstanding could have erupted into the apparent end of their new relationship, but he feared what would happen if he simply sat down and waited until morning to try and talk with her again.

Talking to Bella – trying to rationally explain what had gone wrong to make things spiral so out of control – obviously hadn't worked. Edward, in shock and unable to process how epically he had just failed, stumbled off her porch and shuffled down the walkway, giving her lone porch light one last look before he made it to the end of the street and walked away.

He had no options left, nothing of reason to ground him to this moment and make sense of the problem at hand. How could he work towards a solution when he didn't even know what was broken? Edward knew that whatever had upset Bella had been in the works for far longer than tonight's date, but Kate's re-entry into his life had obviously been planned. By whom? And why now? Why was tonight a good enough reason for Bella to blow everything out of proportion?

With no sense of direction, Edward simply moved one foot in front of the other until he had started some sort of rhythm. He didn't look back, not once, not even when he turned with the curve in the road and Bella's house was no longer in view. He merely walked down the street, back hunched over and hands shoved deep within his pockets while he bit his lip to keep himself from crying. He eventually made it to his house, slipped his key in the lock, and silently walked up three flights of stairs, only requesting sleep when he failed to slip into unconsciousness. Edward understood that everything would only hurt worse in the morning but, for one night, he just wanted a reprieve from the inevitable pain.


	11. Hell Hath No Fury

**A/N**: _If this were __New Moon__, Edward and Bella's roles would be reversed. Also, a link to a picture of Emmett's dog is on my profile._

* * *

Five days.

It had already been five full days and still no word from Bella.

Edward was restless and growing more aggravated the more time he spent stewing over everything that had happened. He had absolutely no answers to supplement all the questions that had seemingly popped up whenever he tried to rationally think about Bella's reaction. His belief that her outburst stemmed much deeper than a misunderstanding with Kate was resolute, but he had yet to uncover or think up a rational explanation for such a response. Was this kind of jealously normal for Bella? (Was _it even jealously?_) Or was it directly related to him? They'd barely spoken in high school, right? It certainly couldn't have gone back that far, could it?

Edward hated rehashing his past on good days (_not that there had been many good days_ he thought wryly) but now, here he was, jumping head first into the cesspool known as 'Edward Cullen, post-op.' Reliving the months after his accident was the absolute last thing he wanted to be doing, so fragile was his ego after being hit with blow after blow that he found the time he spent reflecting almost post-traumatic. He'd been miserable then, generally depressed on better days and almost suicidal during the worst and _how_ he managed to escape greater notice was beyond him and he hardly liked to speculate.

Was Bella worth the kind of strength Edward thought he needed? The mental endurance he would have to possess just to get through all the memories he'd saved for hypnosis?

_I thought so… once._

_And now?_

He didn't have an answer. He couldn't think of one, not after their disastrous date and certainly not after her reaction to what he still perceived to be an honest mistake. He couldn't get over the fact that Kate's note was worth far less than the attention Bella gave it. Was there something he was missing? Something that was said to Bella he wasn't meant to hear?

Although Edward knew in the pit of his stomach that there was only one person who would stoop to such a level that destroying his relationship was child's play, he couldn't bring himself to believe it. Rosalie was cruel, but was she this vindictive? Tying up twelve-year-old loose ends for sport? He'd seen her at the reunion and understood that she had always assumed he was sleeping with Bella after they broke up – if she wasn't the cause for that breakup to begin with – but why would his happiness now have anything to do with her unhappiness then?

_I mean… dude, you didn't even give her a fucking reason when you dumped her._

_So? How could I? Not only confess that I was suddenly telepathic but also charge her with infidelity based on speculation alone?_

_I don't know… you could have made something up. She was your girlfriend for more than two _years_… you were captain of the football team, she was head cheerleader… that's fucking huge in high school._

_I never asked for any of that, nor did I ever see the two of us as social entities._

_But she did. Why do you think she's in fucking Forks, dude? With aspirations like hers, shouldn't she be someplace, I don't know, bigger? Better? More glamorous?_

Was that the clue? Rosalie wanted to stay the big fish of her little pond, beating everything out of the way until she had reclaimed her crown?

But Edward didn't care about any of that.

He'd practically ran away from Forks the day after he graduated high school, barely speaking to anyone the summer before he left and then, at twenty-two, making a permanent move cross-country.

Wasn't that enough for her?

He'd only come back to the reunion for one thing – had only stayed for a specific reason – and nowhere on his agenda was a M.O. to usurp the reputation that Rosalie held in their hometown. It wasn't his fault that people bought his paintings or that gossip in Forks ran wild. He had _never_ publically broadcast his success and always declined personal interviews with any sort of media. Didn't that tip people off to the fact that he was uncomfortable with being a so-called famous artist? Wasn't his behavior after his accident clear enough – that he didn't like attention, didn't care for popularity, and preferred to just be left the fuck alone?

If his encounter with Kate wasn't bad enough (her note was so tainted by its residual fallout that there was no way Edward _could_ view it – and the reason for it – without being thrust back into his anger of that night), he now had another person to possibly blame. And _everything_ that thoughts of Rosalie drudged up were unpleasant and left Edward bitter, his foul mood on a _very_ short leash. He didn't want to spend what remaining time he had left in Forks (_who knows when I'll just give up and leave?_) pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes while he ground his teeth in the darkened square of his bedroom, but everything he'd thought about while waiting for word from Bella made him lash out and incredibly, overwhelming angry.

None of his family members deserved such treatment and no one he cared about had done anything wrong. While his parents were starting to blame themselves the more time he sat acting like his former post-accident self (angry, unsure, and understandably confused), Peter would have no idea why he was suddenly the cause of a fight.

_He's six for fuck's sake! Aside from Carlisle, I'm the best father figure he's got._

_And a _great_ job you've been doing with that one…_

_Oh shut the fuck up. I've been here for him the past three weeks… that's got to count for something._

_Right, because three conscious weeks out of, hmm… let me see… oh, right: three-hundred forty-eight is exactly the kind of guidance Peter is going to remember the rest of his life. Remember that month Uncle Edward stayed with us! Remember all the neat things he taught me! Give it up, Cullen. You're a fuck-up and there's a reason you've been unhappy and alone the past–_

_Yup, I got it, thanks._

And if being in such a self-loathing state of mind wasn't enough (added, it seemed, to perpetual levels of anger, frustration, guilt, hatred, and blind rage), Edward had to deal with what he could only see as a plea for him to get the fuck out of Forks.

Bella had called the house Monday afternoon and threatened to hang up if Edward didn't hand the phone over to Esme. (Something he did, begrudgingly, and only because it hadn't even been twenty-four hours since their one-sided argument and, therefore, not enough time for him to slip into his current mood). Then, once his mother had hung up, he understood just how honest Bella had been the night before. Esme told him that Bella gave her an emotional ultimatum: ask Edward to leave the house during her sessions with Peter or she would have to call them off until he left. To say that he was stunned would be an understatement. Did she really think that just his presence in the house was enough to call off something with Peter, an uninvolved third-party?

The only thing Edward could do was agree to her demands.

He loved Peter, the paternal emotions he'd always felt growing and expanding the longer he was home and privy to the boy's affections, and he knew that Peter would always come first. Peter was his nephew – not his and Bella's son. Under no circumstances should the boy be dragged into a fight he had no business being in. Peter probably knew Bella far better than Edward did at this point, and having to explain that he was selfish with a foot up his ass to a six-year-old who hardly knew anything about romance (let alone his sordid and incredibly complicated attraction towards Bella) was bordering on heartbreaking. Edward couldn't do that to his nephew – hell, he couldn't even do that to his mother, either. As much as he tried to fight it, Bella was a part of the Cullen family and making any of his family members choose her over him was absolutely ludicrous.

He loved her.

After everything she'd said to him and everything he remembered feeling for her in high school, he still genuinely cared for her happiness. Leaving for two hours twice a week was the very least he could do to get on her good side, wasn't it? Show her that, above everything, he just wanted to see her happy, even if she had to find that happiness with someone else.

With each successive day, Edward sunk into a former depression that felt laughably comfortable the more he realized it had only been recent that he ever knew other states of rest were achievable. While he certainly hadn't been as depressed in New York, he'd never stopped being lonely, never ceased wanting and wishing for Bella to be by his side. Only in Forks, living with his parents again and actually being proactive about the thorn in his side, had he honestly noticed he was no longer _un_happy. Forcibly keeping himself away from Bella, going over memories he wanted to keep buried, and realizing that he'd just fucked up the one thing keeping him sane was maddening.

Edward was stuck between a rock and a hard place. And he absolutely hated it.

* * *

As Edward, by practice, had grown to realize, being a Cullen in Forks on a Sunday meant one thing: family bonding time. Already aware of the few details he had divulged to Esme when the latter asked why Bella would be calling and requesting his absence Tuesday and Thursday afternoons (he remembered mumbling an '_I don't know… I think we broke up_'), Tanya shoved her brother towards his coat almost immediately after she and Peter arrived mid afternoon.

He stared at her apathetically.

"Edward," she gritted through her teeth, "take Peter to the fucking park or something."

"The ground's covered in snow, Tanya" he whispered back, watching Peter say 'hello' to his grandparents while tightly gripping his own jacket.

"Yeah, well, you're depressing Mom and Dad and Peter's the only one who can cheer you up." She paused, looking at Edward's blank expression until his eyes eventually made contact with her own. "Please?"

"Fine," he huffed, forcibly throwing his arms into his coat sleeves before yanking his hat over his ears, "but I'm not promising anything." Tanya grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Thank you, Edward." He snorted in response. "I don't know what happened between you and Bella," she whispered, her voice low enough that only he could hear her, "but all I ask is that you don't lie to Peter."

"He's _six_, Tanya! What the fuck would I tell him?"

"Edward, look," she sighed, stepping back and rubbing her hand against her forehead before looking up again, "Peter knows that Mark left because he _chose _to leave and he may be _six_," she hissed out, "but he still understands that not everyone can have Mom and Dad's relationship."

"We're not talking about this," he turned around, ambling over to Peter and ignoring Tanya's huff of annoyance and attempts to argue. "You wanna come to the park with me?" Edward asked Peter, kneeling on one leg and forcing himself to smile. Peter looked over Edward's shoulders and then, sure he wouldn't get in trouble, enthusiastically nodded and ran for the door.

Edward stood up, eyes downcast as he turned to follow. He felt the cool warmth of a hand against his cheek before he realized Esme had even reached out.

"Please," he whispered, turning away slightly to cause a loss of contact. If he had looked, he would have seen Esme nod and turn back towards the counter.

…_even worse than last time… so worried about him… don't even know what happened…_

A bitter laugh forced its way up Edward's throat before he could bite his bottom lip and squeeze his eyes to stop it. What he had felt at sixteen was preferable. That was anger, clearly defined and almost manageable once he had understood the problem. But now? Opening up and losing _everything_ he had worked towards for the past twelve years? Edward didn't even think that knowing the truth would ever completely erase the despair he'd felt well up inside of him and settle in the gaping hole in his chest.

He felt broken and irreparable. His time in Forks had been short – relatively speaking – but his affections for Bella ran deep, tangling with every moment of consequence since he had woken up from his coma and started the life he would live until the day he died. But maybe no one saw that emotion. They didn't or couldn't understand what Bella had meant to him by just physically breathing within the same space… his memories of her silent form next to his in art, the way his eyes always found the curve of her neck and drank in its beauty, why she was the one thing he always looked for in a room full of people, whether that was in classes they didn't share or parties she didn't go to.

Edward had fallen in love with Bella from afar, had built his life around the idea that she existed, and now that he had gone outside of his comfort zone and brought all his feelings to fruition, the pain of losing her was immense and crippling. He didn't have her anymore – not in theory or in practice – and what others viewed as an overreaction was like a slap in the face.

All he wanted to do was be left alone, crawl into a corner, and curl up into a ball. Not 'depressing' his parents wasn't a high priority right now. And neither was trying to ignore the pain he felt while he was outside being forced to socialize with his nephew. He didn't want to pretend that things were going to be okay from a little fresh air or a change in scenery. But what else was there to do besides wait patiently by the phone and pray that Bella would feel pity and explain herself?

There was nothing.

* * *

"Uncle Edward! Look!" Peter shouted, pulling on Edward's hand while desperately pointing towards a large dog sniffing the sidewalk, paws and nose digging around the small clumps of snow still present. "Can I pet it?" he asked tentatively, slowing his gait as they got closer to the animal.

"No, Peter," Edward responded, gripping Peter's hand to stall his nephew from stepping too close.

"Please? I won't hurt him or anything. I just want to say 'hi'." Peter looked up at Edward, not understanding why it could be dangerous for a six-year-old to pet a strange dog on the sidewalk.

"No, come on."

"Edward?" a voice asked. Edward turned and smiled faintly at Emmett as the latter bent down to untie the dog's leash.

"Hey, Emmett." Peter yanked on Edward's arm until Edward bent over to the former's satisfaction.

"Can I pet it?" he excitedly asked in an attempt at a whisper. Edward heard Emmett faintly chuckle before he answered.

"I suppose you'll just have to ask Emmett that."

"Can I pet it?" Peter repeated, letting go of Edward's hand at the same time he shyly took a step forward.

"Sure thing, buddy-"

…_ah… the prodigal son out for a stroll with his nephew…_

Edward's head jerked to the left and he eyed Rosalie with distaste, his eyes narrowing when she had the nerve to not only smile widely but also address him as if they had some sort of relationship.

"Hello, Edward. I hope you had a nice time last weekend." _I sure did._

Edward paled, the breath he'd just taken stalling in his throat as he immediately understood her veiled implication. He took one glance at Peter and Emmett before stalking towards Rosalie and dragging her five feet away by the crook of her elbow.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he hissed out, gripping her skin and not caring that she was minutely struggling to get out of his grip.

_It means exactly what you think it means, jackass_. "Oh," she spoke flippantly, "just that I heard from a trusted source that your date might not have worked out so well. Nothing big," she waved her free head behind her head. Edward only gripped tighter and watched her wince.

"And I suppose your 'trusted source' is Kate?" he sneered. Rosalie scoffed and flung her newly released arm across her chest, crossing her arms as she glared at him.

"What if it is?" _There's nothing wrong with employing the arsenal of pussy you snubbed as a teenager._

Edward stepped back and grabbed the nape of his neck, twisting the skin beneath his fingertips. "This isn't some sort of _game_, Rosalie!" he shouted exasperated. "We broke up! There's no fucking reason why who I date should matter to you!" Peter and Emmett both looked up at Edward's outburst before turning away again. Edward paced the sidewalk without noticing.

"Was breaking up with me in high school some sort of game to _you_?" she hissed back. "I was humiliated and then I hear from every goddamn person in school that you're salivating over the 'mousy nerd in art class' and_–_"

"Get over yourself!" he seethed, locking eyes while cutting her off. "Bella had nothing to do with you! And that fucking stunt you pulled is costing me my fucking relationship!"

"Good," Rosalie replied, suddenly bored. _I'll have to tell Jane and Kate they performed beautifully._

Edward stopped his angry ministrations, frozen to the ground as rage thrashed within him. "What did you say?" he spit out, each word enunciated by a flick of his teeth.

"'Good', Edward! I said 'good'!" Rosalie waved her arms in front of his face to further prove her point. _It's not my fault your little girlfriend believes every fucking thing people tell her._

"What?" he asked again, grabbing her arm to keep her in front of him.

"What is wrong with you?" Rosalie cried, shrugging off his grip at the same time she started to walk away.

"Did you say something to her? Was there someone besides Kate?" Edward didn't care that, if she had followed their conversation closely, he was beginning to respond to statements she hadn't said out loud.

"_I _didn't say anything," Rosalie sang over her shoulder. "But perhaps Bella might have found out what you were planning to do with Kate once your date ended." _Jane! That bitch is brilliant!_ "I'm positively sure you were thinking it anyway. There was no harm in telling the truth." _Knowing the reason you're undesirable is much better than feeling your way in the dark, isn't it Edward? Oh, for fuck's sake, Emmett! You know I hate when you fucking kiss the dog like that! You will not come near me with that–_

Edward stood in the middle of the sidewalk, watching Rosalie drag Emmett and his dog away from Peter before Emmett gave a weak wave over his shoulder. He'd overheard some of Edward's argument with Rosalie and was remembering how vocal she'd been right after they had broken up. He'd always loved Rosalie and been selfishly ecstatic when her relationship with Edward had ended and she turned around and demanded everyone know they were now together. But he'd never gotten over losing his best friend without an explanation and he had certainly never understood his girlfriend's vindictive fascination with making Edward pay for the social humiliation she'd 'endured' in high school.

Edward watched the pair walk away and only started moving when Peter grabbed his hand and silently led them down the sidewalk towards their car. Peter had witnessed that kind of fighting weeks before his mother's latest boyfriend walked out on their three-year relationship, understanding that simply comforting her the best way a five-year-old can was exactly what she needed, even if she never told him that. But Peter was six now and even though he didn't know Rosalie or even how his Uncle Edward did, he was good at comforting and that's exactly what his Uncle Edward needed.

They walked home, hand in hand, their roles reversed.

* * *

This new knowledge changed everything.

Edward's former guess that everything had been planned – by Rosalie no less – was now confirmed and could be used as tangible evidence that both he and Bella had been set up. That an uninvolved third party had asked Kate to flirt and put Edward into a 'this is not what it looks like' situation. That this same person had told someone named Jane to tell Bella… what? Edward couldn't figure that part out and it took him almost two days of frustration to come to any sort of conclusion. He needed to talk to Bella and he needed to do it soon.

As soon as Edward and Peter had walked into the house after returning from their excursion, Peter gave Edward a short one-pat hug and then didn't mention seeing Emmett's dog, even though Edward knew that he really wanted to. Esme found her son sitting on the piano bench and stoically staring at the keys, absentmindedly brushing his fingers over untouched notes as he looked at something that wasn't there.

He heard her sigh and silently comment on his morose behavior before arguing with herself over whether she should say something to him or excuse his presence from the table. Edward's hand dropped to his lap and he looked up to voice his preferred fallback should anyone dare to ask (a seething 'I'm _fine_' through clenched teeth), but by the time his gaze made it all the way to the door, she was already gone. He simply turned back towards the piano and contemplated what kind of music could settle his fraught and dissipating nerves.

When inspiration failed to come, he simply sat still and wallowed. And when Tanya softly altered him to dinner, he followed her to the table, studiously avoiding the painting that would always remind him of Bella.

Edward's shock at Rosalie's admission quickly turned to frustration at the sudden turn of events that were now over a week old and gnawing at his insides. When he tried to analyze the situation and determine exactly _what_ had made Bella so insecure over their already confirmed relationship, his frustration mounted into anger. Did Bella know this Jane? Is that why she automatically believed the woman's sentiments and not Edward's own, often repeated, confessions that he not only needed her to survive but would never feel complete with a substitution?

Then finally, by Tuesday morning, Edward's anger had morphed into an amalgamation of frustrated ire with a heavy side of self-induced guilt. He had taken more than a decade to speak to Bella as someone other than a mere classroom acquaintance. And the first chance he got, he had basically confessed that he'd been obsessively thinking about her while never once intending to call her and let her know. It was no wonder Bella believed whatever filthy trash she was fed by a woman who claimed to know who he was and how he behaved towards the female sex.

The more Edward thought about Bella's reaction, the more he realized that, as much as he _thought_ he knew her, he really knew nothing at all. What if something had happened in the ten years they hadn't spoken? What if her last relationship had ended because of her partner's infidelity? What if entering into a relationship had been just as terrifying – just as big a step – as it had been for Edward? What if she was scared that, if he could already fuck up not even a week after they vaguely said they wanted to be exclusive, his current behavior would spell disaster for a long-term relationship?

Edward was nervous that even if Bella did forgive him, he would continually make mistakes and hurt her without realizing it. But he didn't want to leave that up to chance. He had fought so many battles already that finding a way to make the two of them okay again was the only thing he consistently thought about doing. If there was chance she could forgive him and take him back, he had to take it.

Edward slipped out of the house at two forty-five that afternoon, dressed in old sweatpants, a ratty t-shirt, and his winter hat. He knew he was pushing it, but standing in his driveway while stretching felt like some kind of victory. Bella could come early and he would still be there and they could talk, right? When he realized he was simply bent over and waiting for the sound of her car, he shook out his limbs and started down the dirt road that would bring him to his former high school haunt.

Edward simply ran in the middle of the road, first one way and then the other, until his uncovered arms no longer bothered him and their external coldness felt foreign against the caloric heat he was generating. He finished the two-mile stint six times and was feeling the acidic burn as it cramped his legs and made it hard to breathe by the time he was finally power-walking to his house again.

Bella's car – still parked in the driveway but already running – gave Edward hope that there was still a chance he would be able to talk to her before she left. As the overflowing adrenaline from his run coursed through his veins and gave him false courage, Edward stood on the step and waited for Bella to exit; he was rewarded not even two minutes later.

"Bella!" he breathed out, still surprised when the door opened even though he had been expecting it.

"Edward," she immediately responded, the smile on her face dissolving into a perturbed scowl. She walked quickly towards her car and opened the passenger door, shoving in her bags before slamming the door and walking quickly around. Edward, a small part already anticipating that she would try to run away from him, stood in front of the handle and began to fidget.

"Can we talk?" he asked quietly, his arms still beside him as he tried to will her gaze upward.

"I have nothing to say to you," Bella replied, glancing up at him and holding his confused stare with an icy one of her own. She crossed her arms and waited.

"I know… it's just that_–_" Edward looked down, his confidence already faltering, "I ran into Rosalie on Sunday and she all but told me she planned everything." His head bowed, all he had to do was glance up to see that she didn't care one way or the other.

"And?" she huffed, exasperated.

"And that means whatever Jane said to you was false!" he gesticulated outward, just the thought of Rosalie's behavior urging him forward. "It was meant to make you react the way you did!"

"And what way was 'that'?" she shot back, her tone not matching Edward's pitch but conveying the same intensity.

"Jesus, Bella!" Edward cried, one hand on his forehead while he began to pace in a three-foot line. "Don't you get it?" he looked on before continuing. "You were _supposed_ to overreact and believe that I was some sort of two-bit liar! You were supposed to take Kate's note out of context and think that I somehow wanted to fuck her and not you!"

"Bravo, Edward," she stared at him disgustedly, "I'm so happy to know you really just wanted to _fuck_ me." She reached around his body before Edward grabbed her arm and spun around, pining her body against the driver's door.

"Are you fucking kidding me? After everything I've told you, you're gonna believe that you were just a fuck to me?"

"No, Edward," Bella jerked away from him, pushing on his chest to clear the space between them, "I'm going to believe that you came back here to fulfill some perverted crush you had in high school." They were almost off the concrete, "And I'm going to maybe believe that, when you saw me, you thought it might be fun to fuck with the way I still felt about you," Bella still pushing on his chest with each statement, "how my juvenile infatuation was suddenly reciprocated ten-fold." Edward could barely hear what Bella was accusing him of, her admission pounding through his eardrums and making it hard to breathe.

…_still felt about you… infatuation..._

She continued without stopping, "You must feel so proud of yourself, huh? Redeemed by the mistakes of others. Right? Rosalie didn't ask you to flirt with Kate, Edward. She didn't tell you to come back here and fuck with my life and then not give me any sort of promise that you'd actually stay this time, that you loved me enough to care what I had to say about our relationship." Edward suddenly stopped walking backwards when his feet hit snow. Bella dropped her hands and crossed them again, staring at him in thinly veiled anger. "I might have forgiven this kind of behavior in high school, Edward – when I was young and foolishly believed the boy who sat next to me in art would somehow sweep me off my feet and make me believe I would be okay if he ever hurt me. But now," she stated, her voice unwavering like last time, "now I know that whatever I felt then – oblivious to what men like you could do to me – that wasn't love. And whatever I feel for you now," she looked him straight in the eye and spat out, "is fleeting. I will never love you, Edward. Don't delude yourself into thinking I will ever be able to forgive you."

Bella quickly turned around and got in her car, slamming the door before backing out of the driveway and speeding away. Edward stumbled backwards until he hit the tall hedges that bordered the property, finally letting himself fall forward and stick his hands in the snow. He was still hunched over when Carlisle came home less than an hour later and found him shaking with cold and trying desperately to suck air into exhausted lungs.

Carlisle didn't ask any questions, just mumbled words of comfort as he pulled Edward up and wrapped a covered arm around the middle of his son's back, guiding their bodies to the garage door and then into the dark house. Esme came to greet her husband, worry lines etched into her face at Edward's prolonged disappearance growing stronger the moment she saw her incoherent son wet and practically blue with cold.

She put Peter in front of the television and rushed upstairs behind them, finding suitable clothes for Edward to wear while Carlisle stripped him and rubbed furiously, trying to dry the skin as much as he paternally begged for circulation. He wasn't a doctor in that moment, simply one-half of a confused and concerned duo, knowing that Edward's emotional equilibrium was at a much greater chance of failure than his capable and responding body.

They tucked him in and left him there, stealing quick glances after Tanya and Peter left as much as they allowed themselves – to make sure he was still breathing, to see if he would be ready to speak with them, to hope that simply staring at him long enough would explain what they didn't understand.

They didn't pry the next morning when he didn't come down for breakfast and, when he failed to show up for dinner as well, only worried that maybe this was worse than his behavior in high school. That maybe a casual suggestion he see a psychologist simply wasn't going to fix what they didn't see as broken.

To see Edward already downstairs by eight o'clock Thursday morning was a surprise for Esme. To see him fully dressed while his suitcase sat waiting at the top of the stairs wasn't. She had already accepted it might come to this – an unplanned ending to what she never expected in the first place _–_ and didn't cry until he was already out of the house before nine for his two o'clock flight back to JFK airport.

When Peter showed up later that afternoon, a worried Tanya in tow already forming a plan to get Edward to talk to them, Esme waited until her daughter had left before admitting to her grandson that his uncle had gone back to New York. She wanted to cry again at Peter's reaction (a simple nod of childish understanding), silently nodding until she could turn around and swallow tears she'd been pushing away for years. She stayed in the kitchen when he had chosen to finger the piano keys while waiting for Bella instead of his usual SpongeBob, and then watched as he quietly completed every task Bella asked of him until it was time for her to leave as well. This wasn't the ball of energy she was used to and she didn't know which was worse: physically losing her son or emotionally losing her grandson.

That night at dinner, each remaining Cullen ate in terse silence. Edward, in the few short weeks he had been home, had irrevocably changed all of them. Admitting that fact would only make the knowledge that he was gone somehow harder to swallow.

So they said nothing and hoped the emptiness would be easier to fill in the morning.

**

* * *

A/N2**: _Rosalie and Emmett are not married. They dated in high school before she broke up with him to 'start fresh' in New York City (he went to college, graduated, and then jumped right into professional football). After three years of completely failing at her modeling career, Rosalie cut her loses and moved back to Forks, knowing that being the queen bee of a small town was infinitely better than being a nobody in a legitimate city (her 'minions' in Forks attest to this). When Emmett sustained a career-ending injury at twenty-six, he moved back to Forks in order to start a family… where he bumped into Rosalie and they started dating again. Her motives, however, were still very self-serving and shallow. Emmett never stopped loving her (just simply accepted that she needed time to figure herself out) and genuinely enjoyed being in a relationship again while Rosalie wanted the hometown hero who would boost her social credibility (flashback to senior year?) and just so happened to want to be with her._


	12. Veritable Dysphoria

Edward had never felt so out-of-control since the day he woke up from his coma and realized he now possessed a supernatural gift.

(A close second was a mid-morning tug in which Edward had to abruptly stop with the sudden realization at how inconceivable a romantic relationship might now turn out to be. He immediately lost his erection sans a much-needed orgasm, owing to the unfortunate alliance between sexual satisfaction and its former caregiver – even his cock didn't like to entertain thoughts of Rosalie so soon after their break-up. Almost four years later, Edward laughably (although quite justifiably) hated What Women Want for the sheer fact that he was right in his assumptions about the inability to pair complete libidinal submergence with telepathy. To questions his motives for watching said film would be for naught – at twenty-one, he was not above scoring when and where he could.)

But standing in the snow in the dark in the middle of December as Bella yanked out his heart, ripped it apart, and then stomped all over it, Edward truly understood how out-of-control he could honestly feel without the aided use of intoxication. He could have heeded her advice and left her alone. He could have stopped trying to explain himself when he deduced his efforts were not working. He could have even accepted that maybe she was telling the truth and honestly didn't love him.

But Bella wasn't simply a _part_ of Edward's life: she _was_ his life. His single rash decision to get on a plane and land in a town he had avoided for the better part of a decade was testament to that. In the twenty-five days that Edward had spent in Washington (excluding the aftermath of what he now referred to as That Night), he had felt more or less content during his off-days and genuinely ecstatic during the rest.

He had finally decided that he wanted more from his life than paltry one-night stands and stunted emotional growth. Not only was this turnabout finally accepted as truth after twelve years of private subterfuge, but, because of Bella, it was also put into some semblance of action. Edward had confessed deeply buried sentiments with newfound zeal; accepted that being in Forks was less lonely than living across the country (and, in turn, privately accepted that leaving and ignoring his family might have been one of the worst decisions he could have made); decided to act on emotional impulse instead of his more critical, jaded eye; _and_ put himself in the way of certain failure.

Bella had, in effect, reignited Edward's spark for living. No longer could he return to his apartment, lock himself in his studio, or diligently ignore the rippling pains he felt about the girl who had silently captured his heart. Now, he knew without a doubt what he would be giving up. And under no circumstances would Edward willingly choose his former life.

So, instead of accepting defeat nine days prior, Edward could do nothing less than fight for what he felt he was rightfully owed. It wasn't just about making amends with Bella or relieving her of the belief that he would ever (or _could_ ever) love her with less enthusiasm that fervent adoration. He had to ignore her pleas and make her understand that thoughts of infidelity were simply inconceivable. (Although, quite honestly, such amends were quickly, but fruitlessly, sought.)

He had stood outside Bella's front door and vouched his own explanation because he could not fathom losing her and the life they had already created together. Standing outside his teenage home and watching Bella's mouth move around disgusting assumptions of why he was there and how he could have hurt her was no different. The days spent without her voice were worse than the ten minutes she had offered an explanation. Her presence at least meant they were on speaking terms and Edward knew, even then, that an angry Bella would always be better than an absent one.

He had stayed and listened and finally understood just how warped her perceptions of him had turned out to be. Perhaps he would never know what was said to Bella in the restaurant or what had happened to her in order to produce such affecting insecurities. Maybe he would spend the rest of his life in the throes of a heavy despondency. But he couldn't come to those conclusions without absolutely knowing he had done all he could to fully understand why she could no longer fathom loving him.

It was no accident, then, that once Bella left, something in Edward snapped and he fell to the ground with the weight of it. Because now he was alone and Bella did not love him. She would never forgive him, always think of him the way they had parted: deceitful and pathetic. And that was it, the one straw to break the camel's back. In the mere minutes that it had taken Bella to disembowel him, Edward had realized how unrelenting his pain would now be. He had never entertained thoughts of loving someone else in all the time he spent with his secret ardor and now he never could.

No matter how much it pained him and definitely in lieu of how much it hurt to think back on that moment, Edward would still always love her. He couldn't not, especially when their short time together had merely solidified his dependency on her presence in his life.

He had discretely made flight arrangements at two o'clock Wednesday morning, already knowing he would have to leave (however doubtful, Edward did have some inkling of self-preservation). Even his terse goodbye was planned, an understanding that the guilt he felt at handing the burden to Esme was much less than the strength it would have taken for him to tell the few people who mattered.

He needed to leave Forks for no other reason than being that close to Bella and not being able to have her would have destroyed him. He did not leave to 'get on with his life.' He left to save it.

Edward had willingly given Bella his heart to do with it as she wished – that fact was as irrefutable as it had been once he realized how deep his affections ran. He might not have taken it back to New York with him, but he sure as fuck could not bear to see her annihilate it further.

* * *

The plane was delayed due to inclement weather on both sides of the country and landed just shy of one o'clock Friday morning. Edward found his surreptitious descent fitting, taking a much need reprieve in the hesitant early-morning darkness and cold New York chill. The idea that he could enter his apartment, promptly close all the shades, and prevent the onslaught of sun would have produced a small smile had Edward found enough energy, or enough irony, to realize that not sunshine but clouds would remind him of Forks.

As it was, his physical appearance (rumpled, haggard, and dazed) only projected the shock he was only initially coming to terms with. He knew that some part of him had already accepted that leaving Forks was the best answer (_how else would such a decision have come about?_), but he also knew that there was a waiting period before the true grief would settle in. His accident – however at fault or unawares it found play with his current decisions – had taught Edward that such a violent and unexpected change had to be handled lightly. The fact that he felt he couldn't tell anyone of his telepathy and had to go on living a false pretense at the same time he tried desperately to appear normal was obvious in its failure.

Edward couldn't do that to himself a second time. His understanding that this kind of grieving was best done in private was sudden as much as it was absolute. Even if Bella was the one to leave Forks – giving Edward space to mourn her sentiments without the added pressure of appearing like she didn't affect him so deeply whenever he had to see her unexpectedly or in public – he would still be under the watchful eye of not only his parents, but also Tanya, Peter, Jasper, and Alice. Not being able to fully explain the grievous misunderstanding that had occurred was bad enough for Edward. Having to repeatedly offer excuses for his probable mood swings while trying to hide the guilt he felt at feeling so depressed in the first place would just make everything worse.

Instead, Edward had to shut down and allow himself space to properly mourn a relationship he saw as much longer than the twelve days it had technically lasted. To do so, he would have to limit everything except the most basic of needs: food, sleep, and an unrelenting depression. Social niceties were overkill. And no matter how selfish he knew this behavior to be, he also understood how much it would destroy his family if he granted them true knowledge of its process.

Bella had pulled the rug from beneath Edward's feet, leaving him sprawled out and helpless. It was not fair of him to take down others in his indecision to ever get up.

* * *

If Edward knew Alice at all, she would have been on her way out the door as soon as she heard that Edward was back in New York City, getting dressed and hailing a cab at the same time she was reassuring Jasper of the exact opposite. Edward couldn't fault her for being so rash in her haste to fully understand why he was on the East Coast, moping and refusing to speak to anyone about anything of importance. Having almost two weeks to prepare for such an encounter, however, left him looking at the calendar with disdain, waiting for the moment she would bang on his door and threaten to call the police if he didn't acquiesce to her wishes.

Except, he had received constant messages instead, added to a very real threat that she would board the next plane out of Seattle to forcibly check up on him (Edward had never been more fond of Christmas travelling as he was at the moment of that recognition). In an effort to surprise him, Alice had booked a flight to Washington intending to spend the majority of her holiday with Jasper while occasionally 'dropping in' to see Edward and Bella. To say that she was shocked at Edward's whereabouts upon landing was a gross understatement.

Not answering his cell phone was normal behavior for Edward, even for the almost three weeks he and Alice had failed to contact one another (she would have left a constant barrage of friendly messages had she not been so romantically preoccupied with Mr. Whitlock – as it was, Edward's voicemail remained pleasantly silent, just the way he preferred). But to not answer his cell phone, refuse to pick up or return calls to his house phone, _and_ deny Alice the passing comment that he was now – and had been – in New York City for almost two weeks was above and beyond his normal antisocial behavior.

Alice didn't know Bella, hardly knew _of_ her for the almost-decade she and Edward had been friends (to say she was surprised to learn of his deep affections would also have been an understatement – Alice prided herself on keeping up to date with her best friend's private relationships), but she could clearly sense that something detrimental had happened upon hearing the second- and third-hand accounts of his abrupt departure and subsequent hibernation.

And now Alice was stuck in Seattle, not enjoying the romantic week Jasper had planned for her and worried sick that Edward was worse off than she could ever remember him being. It was only after Edward listened to all her frantic messages (he wasn't above listening, just above replying or engaging in actual conversation) that he came to an understanding about her level of affection and decided to call her back. It was his guilt that did him in – Edward may have been immune to his own pain, but that didn't mean he could handle yet another person being dragged into his melancholy.

He called at two am on Christmas Day. Alice picked up on the first ring.

"Oh, Edward!" she sighed into the phone, a hiccupped sob just audible. "What happened? What did she do to you?"

"Alice–" he started, rubbing his eyes with his free hand as he settled more comfortably into his couch and stared at the television. "I know that you're worried but I can't talk about it yet, okay? She broke–" _me?_ he faltered, not understanding why that simple statement still seemed paltry in comparison to how he really felt. "I just need to do this alone," he finished quietly.

Alice's insistent thoughts were more noticeable in the moment she took to constrain her emotions (that was for him; Edward would have thanked her could he have thought of a way to broach the topic), but she eventually decided that no matter what she did, she would never really know how to help him.

"Okay," she finally responded. "Will you just call me if anything changes? My flight isn't until after the New Year and you know I'll do nothing but worry." Her observation would have been funny had either of them been in the mood for laughter; as it stood, neither was.

"I will," Edward replied, the flickering light of the Christmas movie playing on screen making his already prominent shadows stand out more.

Alice paused before answering. "I love you, Edward and I'll be here if you need anything. For what it's worth, I just–"

"I know," he breathed out, closing his eyes with exhaustion. "Try to have fun, okay? Seattle's beautiful in winter."

"I will," she said back.

Each took a final breath before quietly shutting his phone.

Alice gingerly placed her cell phone on the hotel side table and then curled into bed with Jasper, sobbing out her worries concerning Edward while a distant anger rumbled within whenever she realized how stupid she thought he was behaving. Jasper was more adept at hiding his 'feminine' emotions – no matter how willing he was to fully embrace them at that moment – and refrained from offering paltry words of comfort.

Edward simply un-muted the television and gritted his teeth, reluctant to have this moment be wrought with the first presence of tears regarding Bella. He wasn't ready to cry just then, even if such a release was long overdue.

* * *

December rolled into January and the only change Edward could discern was that Alice stopped calling and chose, instead, to simply come over. His lapse in judgment after speaking with her (should anyone have witnessed it, he certainly would not have even entertained the notion) failed to reappear and Edward merely buried his more emotionally exhausting sentiments, choosing to become numb over hysterical.

He could function when numb: stop littering his apartment floor with take-out boxes and dirty clothing, tentatively open shades and possibly exit his apartment complex, look out his window and see young couples in love and not _really_ want to strangle them. Edward observed that this numbness could not last, but it was the least he could expect to feel, not ready to face his despair head on and unwilling to truly disengage.

Although Alice had taken to thoroughly cleaning his apartment when not stocking his cabinets with edible food, he jumped headfirst into almost daily runs that hid the fact that he wasn't eating as much as she bought. (Despite the fact that she most decidedly noticed, she never said anything beyond frequent pleas for Edward to let her cook.)

It was the first Sunday in February when Edward had the urge to paint again. He was running through Central Park at six forty-seven in the morning when he gradually jogged to a stop and realized he missed the distraction. Alice must have called his manager Steve to explain the absence of any viable material or else the man was dead and no one had told him (never once had the two gone without speaking for more than a couple of weeks and their lack of communication was now bordering on four months). Steve didn't like that Edward had gallivanted off to Bumfuck, Washington with little notice and then failed to set a return date, and always seemed to sniff Edward's presence out whenever the flow of work waned to a considerable degree – not like it ever had with the consistent inspiration Edward found in Bella, but that was beside the point.

The thought that Edward hadn't painted anything in over three months was staggering. The act of brushing horsehair across stretched canvas was – and always had been – therapeutic and if Edward couldn't engage in the activity, he was at least sketching or smudging in a small notebook he kept around for such purposes. To understand that he hadn't tapped into his creative reserve for that long (never in Edward's life as an artist had this happened) was unthinkable. To further know that not even the thought had crossed his mind was doubly offensive.

He didn't care that he was drenched in a cold sweat and half-done with his workout, Edward needed to step into his studio and make art just as much as he had needed to escape Forks. The decision was thought up and enacted within the span of second and then he was turning around and running back where he came from. More than anything, he needed to understand how he could have forgotten that he considered himself an artist, how he had been so numb to the world that simply existing in a stupor had seemed like the best course of action.

The one question that nagged Edward the most lingered in the back of his brain and he started running the blocks between his current location and his studio. He didn't want to believe it, couldn't bring himself to accept that what he was thinking was the truth, but it fit his circumstances and that scared him more than a future devoid of Bella. What if she was so integral to his artistic career, so engrossed with his choice of subject, that the two could no longer be considered separate entities?

_What if I can't paint without her? What if I have to choose?_

A life numb to his break-up in which he could file away memories of Bella and not have the threat of an emotional breakdown breathing down his neck (for that was the only real way Edward felt he could emotionally survive until something drastic happened in the very far future) or a life without art, a life where even the thought of painting brought him to Bella and he felt it was too painful to continue? Edward didn't know which was worse and couldn't even begin to fathom such a response. And so he ran harder, faster… determined to barge into his quiet studio and prove himself wrong.

He couldn't lose both of them (that would certainly be the death of him) and fumbled with his keys once he reached the appropriate door.

The plaster and exposed brick greeted him in the muted daylight but Edward simply walked straight for his private studio within the bigger loft. It was centered against the back wall in the large open room and he didn't glance at anything before trying to place the key in the door's lock, soon realizing that his hands were shaking when he repeatedly failed. The fourth attempt brought Edward's forehead against the painted wood and he stared at his feet while breathing deeply. Standing up straight, he slowly looked around the room and noticed all the walls were bare.

The knowledge that he'd been gone long enough to warrant Alice removing the last exhibit gave Edward new resolve and he deftly slipped in the key and turned the lock, staring into his studio and relishing in the fact that nothing had been changed. Said paintings were stacked neatly in the corner, but he still could have closed his eyes and felt his way around the room without bumping into anything.

Sighing with relief, Edward quickly walked towards the back wall and pulled up all the shades, exposing the small room to the day's quickly rising sun. Every clink of a paintbrush, spray of water, or rustle of fabric was amplified and he felt even more grateful that he had decided to do this now and not during the week when there might be a chance Alice would stop by (Edward might have stopped coming to work but that didn't mean Alice wouldn't find things to do just to keep an air of normalcy). He had no idea what would happen today, but was sure even small offers of cordiality would be met with general hostility.

Eventually Edward sat barefoot on his stool, cracking his knuckles and rolling his neck before staring blankly at the canvas. The uncertainty of his talent wasn't what was keeping him on edge. It was the thought that inspiration would suddenly fail in the face of him needing it to be there. He gingerly dipped his brush in blue acrylic paint, breathing in the smell as he moved his arm and hovered over the canvas. Edward pushed the brush forward without making contact and then just as quickly brought his hand back, unsure whether his hesitancy stemmed from not knowing where to start or not knowing what to paint.

_Should I just paint anything? Anywhere? Or should I sit here until something comes?_

Never in the eleven years that Edward had been painting had this kind of deliberation come about. Before he'd found his muse in Bella, his high school assignments had been enough of a catalyst to draw out his reluctant talent. But now, at twenty-eight and depending on such talent to show itself, Edward was lost. He didn't know how to think up a painting, the concept completely foreign when the act had always been tied to his emotions, giving him the ability to look at any one of his paintings and immediately know why he'd painted it.

But all Edward could do now was stare at the blank canvas and softly place his brush on its palate. And just as slowly, he curled into a ball, wrapped his arms behind his knees, and sobbed into his thighs. Every negative emotion he'd refused to acknowledge – every shred of panic tucked carefully away – was now amplified by the sudden realization that he'd not only lost the most important person in his life but also a part of himself as well.

The reasons he had disappeared from Forks had left Edward broken and beyond any discernable repair. Although this new life devoid of Bella was a gruesome alternative to what he'd lived since graduating high school, he understood that it had been his choice to love Bella in silence and thus deluding himself into believing she could feel the same way was no longer an option.

He would just have to accept the truth and try to get on with his life.

But now his one ability to cope with emotional turmoil had been stripped as well. If today was any indication, Edward would never be able to paint again. Without Bella, he was simply heartbroken. Without art, he wasn't Edward.

He rocked on the stool until his crying turned into dry sobs. It was probably noon by the amount of light coming through the windows, but Edward simply bunched up as many drop canvases as he could find and curled up on the floor. He stared at the wall until a dreamless sleep claimed him.

He woke up the next morning with Alice gripping his hand on the floor beside him. They stayed like that for hours.

* * *

Edward received one phone call from his family once he landed in New York. Whether this was due to their hesitance in calling after he had reintroduced himself after six years of separation only to leave just as suddenly or because he didn't make any effort to call them wasn't dwelled upon or studied with more than a passing glance. Edward thought that by leaving, his departure would announce to everyone (except, of course, Alice) that he didn't want words of sympathetic pity and could do without the obligatory 'how are you feeling?' conversations.

To be truthful, Edward didn't _know_ how he was feeling, but even if he did, he sure as fuck didn't want to have a discussion about it.

The fact that Esme kept up her usual long-distance charade (a call around Christmas, which he didn't pick up) was surprising. Edward would have assumed she of all people would be calling weekly with intents to coax him out of his depression after he so boldly moved back into her house and, if things had gone according to plan, would have packed up all his shit and left New York for good. Instead, her one call shamed him. He understood her reasoning and felt guilty when he realized that own his mother couldn't even contact her son without fear of emotional retribution. It wasn't that she didn't want to talk with him (her immediate acceptance after he rang her doorbell that day in November proved that), more like she knew him too well and was trying to respect his distance.

She was waiting – just as she'd waited for six years, hoping that her wayward son would see the error of his ways. Waiting for him to make the first move. Waiting for him to realize he'd been wrong. Waiting for him to want to come home.

Edward realized this in the middle of February.

His emotional breakdown in his studio (and subsequent unplanned discovery) had left him extremely vulnerable, needing to stop and catch his breath over the smallest of triggers. And although, on some days, Edward would have preferred to stay numb in regards to his feelings for Bella and his inability to paint anything in response (he'd fruitlessly tried a week after the incident and then had given up completely), he was finding it ironically easier to cope if he didn't hold anything back.

The progress was daily, albeit practically unnoticeable, until days before Peter's birthday when Tanya called and he picked up the phone without thinking. Her message – brief and to the point: we miss you, please think about calling Peter on Sunday – left him speechless once she'd hung up. Any person of importance could have called him and said they missed him on the West Coast and he might not have taken stock with their statement. But hearing his sister bring up Peter only solidified his realization of what his mother (and father and perhaps even Jasper) were doing – they were giving him space, hoping that by leaving him alone he wouldn't run away again.

They didn't even have to say those exact words, just the prefabricated notion 'we miss you' accompanied by the silent plea 'please come home.'

Comprehending that he had, yet again, dragged Peter into a conflict he had no business being in, Edward psyched himself up for Peter's upcoming seventh birthday, intending to call and at least acknowledge that he loved his nephew and would have loved to be in Forks instead of New York. (However, 'Sorry, bud, but I'm a little emotionally unstable right now and seem to break down over the slightest infraction' didn't seem like something a child would understand, no matter how mature Peter behaved.)

Edward put off the call until eight-thirty when he realized that if he didn't just do it, he would find more and more reasons not to (the action accompanied by a rather lucid flashback to the morning he'd paced around his hotel room while nervous beyond belief to finally pick up the phone and call his mother). The phone rang twice before Peter's high-pitched voice broke through Edward's earpiece.

"Hello?" Peter questioned.

"Hi, Peter," Edward stated, taking a deep breath to further calm his nerves. "It's your Uncle Edward."

"Uncle Edward!" Peter cried, his exclamation littered with a suspicious undertone. "Did you know what today is?" he boasted. _I hope he remembers that it's my birthday…_

Edward smiled before responding. "Sure thing, kid. How good of an uncle would I be if I didn't even remember my favorite nephew's birthday?"

"Not a very good one," Peter giggled in response. _I bet Momma would stick him in time-out like she does to me sometimes._ "Guess what I got!" _A bike! A bike!_

"Let's see," Edward verbally pondered, enjoying his nephew's unbridled joy more than the point of the game, "a book?"

"Nope."

"What about some paints?"

"Uncle Edward!" Peter admonished.

"Okay, okay…" he smiled, stroking his chin even though no one could see him. "Is it as big as you?"

"Yup."

"Is it… something you use outside?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Okay!" Edward asserted, "I know what it is." He paused for dramatic effect before speaking. "Nanna and Grandpa got you a surfboard." Peter's infectious giggles brought a smile to Edward's face.

"Nope," Peter replied.

"Then I give up," he played. "I suppose you'll just have to tell me."

"They bought me a bike! And it's black and green and it doesn't have training wheels! And Grandpa said he would take me outside when all the snow melts! And then the next time you come visit I can show you, right?"

"Sure, bud," Edward automatically replied, his easy demeanor ruined with the simple observation of a child. "You know, you'll probably be really good by the time I get out there."

"Really?" Peter softly questioned. "I hope so." He sighed dramatically before whispering into the phone. "I wish you were here, Uncle Edward. Jessie doesn't take me to the park and I never have fun anymore. Remember that time we went with Bella? And I played kickball with Emmett? I liked that."

Peter's mind filled with images of one of the last happy days Edward had shared with Bella and the unintentional recollection left Edward wanting. It became almost difficult to breathe as the familiar tightening worked its way up his chest and into his throat, coating his eyes with threatening tears that he refused to cry in front of his nephew.

"I liked that too, bud. Maybe next time I come home you and I will do that again."

"Okay," Peter quietly answered. _Why does Uncle Edward sound so sad? Does he miss Bella too?_

Edward sucked in breath before speaking again. "Hey, Peter? Will you tell your mom and Nanna and Grandpa that I love them very much? Can you do that for me?"

"Sure, Uncle Edward." The boy's voice was subdued and understood that something was off, even though no one ever really explained anything to him.

"And Peter? I love you very much too. Never forget that… even if I'm not there enough to say it."

"Okay."

One short breath later, Peter carefully hung up the phone, the sounds of the receiver being dropped into its cradle amplified as Edward sat with his cell phone shoved into his ear. He didn't move until a pre-recorded voice robotically alerted him that the call was over.

With a soft click Edward shut his phone and slowly walked through his apartment. When he reached his bed, he crawled underneath the covers and curled up into a tight ball. He didn't wait for sleep, choosing instead to stare at the far wall in an unfocused manner. He knew it wouldn't help him to relax or even fall into a pleasant night's sleep, but he took perverse pleasure in the turn of his thoughts anyway.

Edward wanted to drown in Bella. And just for tonight, he would relinquish his already diminishing control.


	13. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

A breakdown is a breakdown. One can swallow it and postpone the evitable, but a conscious plea to save embarrassment or a subconscious desire to prolong grief is just that, a postponement. The best course of action is to simply welcome the sadness and effectively, albeit emotionally, purge what is new and foreign and wholly unwelcome. And the other? Bottle everything up until the body finally breaks down and says 'enough'.

Edward had not allowed himself to come to terms with his accident, resulting coma, and subsequent telepathy. He had pretended like nothing was wrong while still understanding that nothing would ever be the same. He often wondered if such a decision could be rectified – if he could simply sit his family down and explain everything after so many years of omission. Then he would realize, in a sudden moment of clarity, how impossible that really was.

He had made a decision a long time ago, a choice fraught with antibiotics and the haze of fulfilling hyped teenaged potential. Now, he had to live with the constant worries and singular moments that threatened to tear everything down. It was never the right time, he wouldn't be taken seriously, he wasn't ready… tiny fragments of conversation that left Edward in knots and almost single-handedly contributed to his escape across the country.

The fretting and worrying that Edward's family had exhibited that Christmas, as well as the people at school he had once thought of as 'friends' when he was blissfully ignorant of their true motivations, had tainted his outlook on life and how he presently responded to stress or uncomfortable situations. Years of avoidance caused him to keep quiet, refuse to provide an explanation, and then bolt at the first chance offered.

While the majority of Edward's fits of current fetal crying were centered on Bella, he knew that he was not _just_ upset about what had happened in Forks. These chest-heaving sobs had been building and building since the moment he woke up in his hospital bed and understood he was different. But he was so good at gritting his teeth and refusing to cry that there was no longer any pattern to his madness.

The phone call he had shared with Peter only solidified the vulnerability he now constantly felt, and Edward was simply tired of trying to push it away. The fact that he was alone in a sterile apartment was his own doing and something with which he merely accepted at face value. Alice's physical presence, however, was no longer viewed with barely concealed disdain. Nor did he try to fake a miraculous recovery to a broken heart he believed could never feel more shattered. He simply no longer felt embarrassed by his actions.

He kept mostly to his bed whenever his schedule permitted. Because he no longer had the energy to control his emotions, he settled on keeping busy to sustain some semblance of normalcy. He woke up with the sun, ran every couple of days, ate regular meals (which he politely requested Alice be present for whenever she was able), and, for ten minutes every day, forced himself to draw.

The charcoal felt clumsy in Edward's hand, the black stick uncomfortable to both hold and use, but each line produced free of stinging tears and a bitter aftertaste was viewed as some sort of accomplishment. When Edward finally felt moisture sliding down his cheeks, he merely sniffed and cleared his vision. He wanted to get over this feeling of despondency already, find the fucking silver lining and not have to debate what kind of tissues to buy simply because his nose was constantly chafing.

If he chose to spend the rest of his evenings curled up in his room, fine. He'd accepted his reaction to such masochistic behavior and only hoped he would be able to fall asleep without a pulsing migraine. If Alice just so happened to walk into his apartment and see him scribbling so furiously on the paper that his artistic utensil began to crumble uselessly in his now stained palms, that was okay too. On those days he simply stopped early and hunched over, smearing black smudges all over his face as he grew used to Alice's warmth and wondered briefly what he'd done to deserve her.

As much as Edward's way of dealing with a decade's worth of building stress, unnoticed depression, and unrequited love were taking a toll on his physical ability to socially interact and emotionally cope with things as simple as the clothes he could no longer wear due to memories he no longer liked to relive, he was healing. Sometimes slowly and almost always painfully, his invisible wounds were being bled out until one day he noticed they had stopped leaking. He could objectively draw his kitchen table without crying and then softly smile when he realized what he had accomplished (even though he had merely proved he possessed some sort of talent and not the makings of a passionate career). He could cook dinner for Alice and be genuinely interested in everything he'd missed while he'd been away. He could call his mother and finally say 'I love you, I'm sorry I've been such a mess.' He could find beauty in a burgeoning spring and not fall against a tree at the first sign of swinging mahogany curls.

Edward's life was far from pleasant, but he was learning to be okay with not needing to pretend he was truly happy or perfect. Maybe in the future he would find another reason to paint, another woman to love… but for now, he simply smiled at how the sun set and the way in which Alice always knew when to pry and when to let things go. He was finding the small stirrings of contentment welling up where torrential sobs used to dwell and that was good enough for him.

In late March, Edward carefully packed up the various art supplies he had lying around his apartment and felt no sadness or regret at hiding them away. He'd successfully proved he could draw geometric shapes without dissolving into a hunched-over ball of hysterics and there was no longer any reason to mock a suppressed ability to cathartically paint. He thoroughly cleaned his apartment and then tackled his studio, detailing and shelving supplies and old paintings. He was in no hurry to host an opening, but he couldn't give up his space just yet. There had to be something, he reasoned, one simple thing that would make the dull ache within his chest dissipate before he could start anew. He had waited ten years for Bella, he would certainly wait for this.

It started when Alice came over in the middle of April.

"Alice," Edward spoke, not glancing up from his newspaper when his apartment door opened and then closed. He heard no answer, just two sets of feet and a suspiciously quiet inner monologue. "Alice?" he asked hesitantly, not wanting to ruin a surprise he felt uncomfortable not knowing about sooner.

_What the fuck is _Jasper_ doing here? And why the fuck did I not hear one peep from Alice?_

Edward stood up, his half-finished crossword puzzle rustling towards the couch. He softly padded down the hallway and towards the kitchen, smiling faintly at how easily his guests had already made themselves at home. He stood in the open doorway for a moment, watching Jasper follow Alice as she made her way around his kitchen.

"I mean right?" Alice spoke over her shoulder. "With the kind of business I feed into that shit shack, the least they can give me is a fucking two hour turnaround. I'm not even asking for them to _bake_ anything! Just grab some nine-inch chocolate molten and script something on the top!"

"Ali baby," Jasper chuckled. "It's just a cake. I hope that I don't have to bribe Edward with food just to see him."

"I know," she responded, settling into his lap and dejectedly resting her head on his shoulder, "I just figured he might need a little something extra." She sighed before snuggling in closer. "You know how he gets… I constantly worry one wrong thing will push him over the edge again."

"I hear ya," he softly stated, kissing Alice's temple while she fiddled with his shirt buttons. _Lord knows that kid's been through the fucking wringer enough for all of us._

As much as Edward would have liked to slink back into the shadows and deny he'd witnessed their conversation, he knew that they were trying. He should be happy they'd come over at all.

He cleared his throat, a small smile forming when Alice and Jasper both turned towards him and then allowed themselves a few seconds of embarrassment. They _were_ in his kitchen.

"Edward!" Alice cried, jumping off Jasper's lap and barreling into Edward. They hadn't hugged in this way (that is, without Edward already emotionally compromised and most likely sprawled on the floor) since the reunion. He tried not to read so much into the gesture. "We both decided that your present to Jasper could be a little face time while he's in New York. What do you say?" _And you better agree to this because you are not ruining another one of my vacations…_

"Okay," Edward replied, laughing outright at Alice's unbridled enthusiasm and Jasper's small smirk. "Now where's the cake?" he joked, earning a gruff laugh from Jasper just as Alice unsuccessfully smacked him on the arm.

"Edward!" Alice admonished.

"I'm kidding, jeez," he replied, playfully rolling his eyes at Jasper before enveloping him in a hug. "Thanks," Edward whispered into Jasper's ear. "For coming out here. I know I haven't been much of a friend lately."

Jasper nodded once they let go. _My pleasure… I don't know what I would do if it were Alice… I'm sorry _whirring through his brain as his eyes went soft with the recollection. Edward turned away quickly.

"So, what's the plan?" he asked Alice, pulling out an empty chair as Jasper reseated himself and Alice opened the fridge to get Edward a drink.

"Well," she drew out, placing Edward's beer on the table before moving to stand behind Jasper. She stared down at the latter's hair, twirling the ends of his curls in her fingertips. "I figured we could stay in tonight if that's okay. Jazz just landed a couple hours ago and I'm pretty sure he's jet-lagged. And I wasn't sure how you'd, you know, react." Alice stopped her ministrations and looked pleadingly at Edward. _He just surprised me this morning and then you were gone most of the day and I– God, I hope it's okay… I know he's one of your best friends and all but you've been so messed up over Bella that I just thought…_

"That's fine," Edward softly replied, finding no fault with Alice's argument and not wanting to cause unnecessary drama. He _was_ behaving differently because of Bella, but didn't the past two months teach him that learning to live with such reminders was the only sensible alternative to 'getting over' her? There was no doubt in Edward's mind that he still loved Bella – would continue to love her until either his sanity or affections acquiesced (he bet on the former) – and avoiding everything and everyone from his 'past' life held no distraction.

"Good," Alice sighed in relief. Edward turned towards her minutely, no longer lost within his own inner monologue. "His flight leaves Saturday morning but I've basically planned the rest of the week out. You're free to come with us, but it's mostly lame museums and all this touristy crap I know he'll love."

"Um, Alice?" Jasper cut in. "You know that I'm sitting here, right?"

"Yeah, but it's true," Edward snorted, sneaking a glance at Alice just as she rolled her eyes. Jasper scoffed before Edward continued, Alice lightly scratching Jasper's head before turning around and finding the take-out menus. "Jazz, you're a teacher. And as much as you love Alice, I know you insisted on nothing less than paid walking tours by trained professionals."

_That is not…_ he trailed off, slapping his palms on Edward's table while trying to get a word in edgewise. Edward merely shook his head and laughed.

"You're a bit nerdy… I get it," he continued. "Alice loves you and we're best friends. You can explain all you want but we're still making fun of you."

"Jesus!" Jasper took a swig of his beer. "I try to do something nice by comin' here and with the two of you hankerin' on my back the whole week you'll be lucky I stay until Saturday!" _Good for nothing lazy ass Yanks think they know everything about everything…_

Edward was thankful he had no liquid in his mouth, as Jasper's regression into his native Texan drawl caused him to bark out a very gruff laugh complete with belly holding and eye squeezing. (The funny way Jasper expressed his anger was something Edward had only witnessed a handful of times and, with an interlude of more than ten years, the act had been sorely missed.)

"Alice!" he croaked out, "Jesus Christ, Alice, your boyfriend's a fucking redneck oh my God why don't you talk like this all the time."

"What?" she hissed out, covering the mouthpiece with her hand, "I'm on the phone!" When she saw Jasper mumbling to himself and Edward having conniptions, she bit down her smile and wordlessly walked back down the hall, leaving her two favorite men none the wiser.

"Holy shit, Jasper," Edward coughed out, "I don't fucking understand how you always cheer me up but did I fucking need that."

"Well, then, I'm glad to appease you," Jasper scoffed, trying (and failing) to stay angry when he realized that Edward was probably telling the truth. He quietly watched his former student wheeze out several more laughs before finally gulping down the rest of his drink. When Edward looked up, neither man thought anything of his tears.

"I ordered from that Thai place down the street," Alice stated, throwing the worn menu back in its drawer before returning to her post behind Jasper and not making any mention to the scene both men thought she'd just missed. "Should be here in about twenty minutes."

Edward nodded, scraping back his chair and grabbing two beers from the refrigerator. "You want anything, Alice?" he turned.

Alice smirked at Jasper before silently shaking her head 'no'. "I'll find something later if I'm thirsty."

Edward pushed the door closed and stood up, quickly opening both bottles before throwing the bottle caps in the sink. "Maybe there's a game on or something while we wait," he suggested, handing Jasper his second beer before taking a sip of his own.

"I didn't know you liked sports," Jasper questioned. _Wouldn't that just remind you of the accident?_

"I don't," Edward joked. "But I don't know how much more I can take of you and Alice making out in my kitchen."

Jasper had the decency to blush lightly as he ducked his head. Alice only huffed in response, proving Edward's point.

'What?' he mouthed, finally happy to find something so silly to laugh about.

Jasper was still on Pacific Time when Alice curled up and fell asleep close to eleven o'clock. Although Edward was tired, he was also selfish and knew that his former teacher would probably be the one person capable of telling him the truth about Bella. Perhaps it was unwise to inquire so readily into the social life of his ex-girlfriend, but some part of him just needed to know. If she was as miserable as he was, if she refused to talk about him, if she regretted anything she might have said… Edward needed to hear it, for better or for worse.

Considering that a tipsy Jasper was easier to direct than a sober one, Edward figured that he was already off to a good start.

"Hey… Jasper?" he asked, his darting eyes the only body part contradicting his calm façade.

"Yeah," Jasper muttered back, waiting until the current commercial was finished before turning his head towards Edward.

"Do you ever, um…" _Fuck! Shoulda planned this out or something._ He trailed off, picking at stray threads and concentrating too hard on the television.

"What?"

Edward cleared his throat and uncomfortably shifted. "How's Forks?" The question was forced and he felt his voice grow pinched towards the end.

"Fine," Jasper stated, his reply as neutral as Edward's question. _Just ask… no one's gonna think down on you for wonderin'._

"You staying? Next year?" Both men stole glances at each other before turning away.

"Suppose so. Alice and I haven't talked about doin' anything else if that's what you mean." _She's not moving anywhere without a ring on her finger, except you prolly figured that–_

Edward nodded, ending Jasper's internal monologue by pretending not to notice it was there. Their throat clearing and shifting sighs helped to pass the time until the show they were watching segued into credits.

"You can stay here… if you want. I have a second bedroom and it's late." Jasper nodded before Edward stood up, shutting off the television and grabbing the various bottles that stood empty on the coffee table. "It's just down the hall, across from the bathroom."

Edward left Jasper to carry an unconscious Alice, quietly making his way towards the kitchen and methodically cleaning up. His unsuccessful attempt to gather information about Bella only made him more restless than he had anticipated. What bothered him wasn't the potential knowledge he would have gained from Jasper (considering how intuitive Jasper had been), but the fact that he couldn't even seem to ask. Was that due to an emotional hesitance or one based on pride? Was he really not any better than he had been or simply unwilling to admit that he was terrified Bella truly meant what she had said?

The thoughts swirled through Edward's brain and made him unaware of Jasper's muted presence until after the other man leaned against the counter.

_How do I start this? Just go right out and say it? Poke around a bit? Wait until he asks–_

"It's not fair of me to ask," Edward started, turning off the faucet and slowly turning to face Jasper, "but I just need to know."

Jasper nodded and then cut Edward off before he could say anymore. "She left sometime in December." Edward blanched, the fact that Bella was gone somehow hurting him more. Jasper caught Edward's glance before looking down again. "No one knows anything more than that – not even Jessica – and, from what I know, they've been friends since they were teenagers. Bella never said anything to me until after I figured it out for myself… I just came into work after break and she was gone." The color had drained out of Edward's face and he was breathing rapidly, his left hip shoved against the one hand gripping the countertop. "I always suspected it had something to do with you and how you left things, and her complete denial only confirms it." He paused, "I'm sorry, Edward," one hand lightly gripping Edward's bicep in a paternal gesture of comfort. "I know what it feels like, that desperate wanting just to see their face again… know that they're doing alright even if it ain't with you." _And I thought I felt bad with Maria… imagine the kind of pain I'd go through if I ever lost Alice. Would damn near kill–_

"Thanks, Jasper," Edward managed, a terse smile drawing up the corners of his mouth in a mocking attempt at gratitude. "I just–"

"I know," Jasper softly stated, "I'll see you in the morning." He gave a brief nod over his shoulder and then padded across the tile until he had reached the hardwood floors and Edward could no longer hear him.

Edward's heart was pounding frantically, trying to beat its way out of his chest in a futile attempt to stop the flow of frenzied adrenaline that made him weak with anxious panic. Knowing that Bella had escaped Forks (or Washington… maybe the United States… possibly North America…) left him dizzy with unanswered questions. Was she as cut up as he was or just afraid he'd come racing across the country in some blind romantic fervor?

Hearing a second-person account of how Bella was behaving _might_ have mitigated most of Edward's apprehension. After a brief period to digest the facts (and either weep with despair or laugh with some perverted sense of entitlement), Edward could then logically assess the situation and behave accordingly: fight for a relationship Bella still wanted and was clearly too proud to seek out or force himself to deal with her never loving him back. But this, this coward's answer of running away… that was Edward's forte and he became angry at the realization that Bella had only succeeded in making everything more complicated.

What was she hiding? And why didn't she want anyone to know?

Edward was hardly in the right mind set to be making such rash decisions (hadn't he behaved this way numerous times and only brought on more heartache?), but his resolve in Forks hadn't changed. He could have let things go if she'd only proven their separation was what she wanted. If she had stayed in Forks and referenced him with a slight grimace and a shake of her head. If she had politely told Jasper she respected that he was friends with both of them and would never make him choose. If she had put her job before her personal ideals and–

_What?_

_Stayed in Forks._

_Yeah, we know… she should have acted like nothing was wrong._

_No, you dumbass! Didn't Peter say he missed going to the park with Bella?_

_Yes, and you agreed with him._

_But didn't he also say that _Jessie_ wasn't any fun? Which means Bella not only left her professional obligations at the high school but also her responsibilities to Peter as his tutor… which means she didn't want anything to do with my family because however she acted with him might get back to me… and whatever I heard might lend me to believe something was wrong, that maybe she really did care for me as much as I cared for her…_

_Whoa… slow the fuck down, Cullen. It's almost midnight and you haven't been known to make the best decisions after spending an entire day riding a rollercoaster of your emotions. Just go to bed and we'll figure this out in the morn–_

But Edward was already gone, his internal monologue cut off and shoved out of the way with this new plan for action. He was going to find Bella and make her talk to him. And he wasn't going to leave until he was confident that no stone lay unturned.

Finding the whereabouts of someone determined to stay hidden is difficult but not impossible. Considering Edward's copious abundance of free time and zero shame in following Bella's whereabouts across the Internet, her current location was unearthed in a relatively short timeframe. (Despite the fact that Edward _did_ detest his computer almost as much as his cellphone and, up to this point, had really no need to hone his cyber-stalking skills.) As it stood, her heavily buried (albeit public) Seattle address was stored in his memory as early as the day after Jasper left New York, almost seven full days since Edward had started on his yet-to-be determined quest.

_I have to tell Alice, right? And maybe my family, too? Of course Jasper will figure it out… should I just suck it up and tell him myself?_

Edward was good at rushing into things (almost too good considering his less-than stellar track record). Blindly throwing himself at Bella that first Tuesday after the reunion had been a lucky break. He knew this and had still chosen to ignore the potential consequences, running full-speed ahead into a crash course in adolescent romance. Things _might_ have turned out differently had Edward understood the risks he was taken coming back to Forks ten years after the fact and expecting past hesitancies not to rear their ugly faces.

But the fact remained that staying in Forks after a not-quite dismissal from Bella during the reunion – with little more than a few hours of careful deliberation – had only proved one thing: when it came to Bella, Edward had no clue what he was doing. Even if he had driven all the way to Port Angeles arguing with himself and then almost run a half-marathon debating what the fuck to do, he still hadn't really approached Bella with any kind of plan or direction. Events happened and he took them in stride, deciding what he did or said as the chances came up. And what did he have to show for that? Four solid months of heartbreak on top of eleven years of unannounced and unrequited love.

Edward's rational conscience shut down when he let himself drown in the potential of everything Bella inspired, but he wasn't stupid (or naïve enough) to willingly go through that kind of nervousness and debilitating pain a second time. Having her address wasn't enough to tempt him this time. He might have known where she went to sleep and started out her days, but he had no desire to simply hop on a plane and surprise her, especially not if he honestly wanted answers.

It took him an extra week of furtive thinking and dodging questions, but Edward eventually decided on his course of action: book a one-way ticket to Seattle, arrive at the hotel, verbally practice one's friendly interrogation, leave the rest up to chance.

The plane right made him anxious and nauseous and Edward berated himself for his inability to fall asleep. He did not get drunk or curse female passengers who thought he might be interested in popping their mile-high cherries. He sat in his seat, rested his forehead against the plastic window, and bit his nails – repeatedly – tapping the too-short keratin against his steadily bouncing thigh without so much as a wince.

The 757 landed and he practically jumped out of his seat, narrowly missing the overhang and trying not to lash out at the slow-moving trail of people exiting in front of him; his inner cheek took most of that trauma.

It was almost four o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon when Edward finally stood outside his chosen hotel sans rumpled jet-lagged clothing and a trusty carry-on. He could have stayed the night without sleep and wound-up with nervous anticipation, but figured the added non-rest would only make the imminent conversation that much more difficult. How much more could he really stand when they were single-digit miles apart? Edward was too jittery, too strung out on an over-planned mistake he could just feel he was making, but he needed to know.

He took a cab to her apartment, thanking his lucky stars he didn't have to announce his presence through the illusive buzzer, and calmly knocked on her door. The act made him want to throw up.

Bella opened three seconds and one 'mississip' later. She half-drawled out a 'hi' before recognizing who was at her door. Edward noticed she didn't appear as angry as she had been the last time they'd spoken or even as angry as he'd predicted she would be, just more resigned, her face betraying no discernible weakness like his was.

"Edward," she nodded, her voice quiet while her eyes stayed glued to his chest. His heart sped up at the gesture.

"Bella, I–"

"Please don't," she whispered. "I left Forks for a reason. I kept everything quiet. I didn't want you to find–"

"Shh," Edward whispered, immediately cupping the side of her face with his hand and forgetting why he was there in the first place.

He'd flown across the country because of a righteous anger he was determined to put to rest. He didn't like feeling this way about Bella, harboring a vindictive energy that was solely focused on proving just what the fuck had happened and how it wasn't his fault. But the broken part of him, the empty shell she had left in the snow in December, wanted vengeance and had subtlety pushed his broken heart away whenever he'd made any sort of progress. He'd already realized he loved Bella – still loved her in a way he would never be able to control – and, in response, his anger had been tamed into a deranged quest to discern all the details his lovesick demeanor had completely missed.

To see Bella without a constant stream of curses flying out of her mouth, however, sorely dampened Edward's well-thought plans. Nothing mattered anymore except the affection still coursing through his veins and demanding everything be done to ease her suffering. Whether she deserved that comfort without a verbal apology or explanation was beside the point.

"You shouldn't be here, Edward," Bella stated, sucking in a breath while her voice sounded shaky. Edward merely rubbed circles against the apple of her cheek, feeling a sudden warmth when she leaned into his touch instead of pushing him away. She paused, placing her hand on top of his and slowly pulling it away from her body. "We can't be together. Not like this." She stopped again, stepping backwards and regaining her grip on the door. "Please, just go. I–"

"No," he cut her off, stepping into the apartment and slamming the door behind him. "I didn't come all this way and after all this time just for you to shut me out again. I get that something happened, Bella, something way bigger than Kate and Jane and Rosalie." Edward looked at her, silently imploring what he was saying to break through her crumbling façade. When he could see that she might cry, he closed the gap between them and tightly gripped her face, lowering his voice and pulling out all the stops. "I love you, Bella. I've loved you for so fucking long and it never even occurred to me that maybe I should tell you. But then something clicked in November and I just needed to see you, okay?" His voice was cracking but Bella was still there, listening to his words. "And then you didn't tell me 'no' when I first asked you out and it gave me hope that maybe I could prove to you what you'd meant to me all those years I was in New York. So I stayed and thought about you every damn moment I wasn't seeing your face," Edward paused, his thumbs wet with tears, "and I knew that I was totally in love with you. It just made sense to me that after all that time, you were suddenly giving me a chance to show you what you were worth."

Edward stopped, his eyes searching Bella's face for any signs of acknowledgment. When he softly tilted her head upwards, she opened her eyes and slowly shook her head.

"Please, Edward, please just–"

"Did you know that I was going to say 'I love you' that night?" he continued. "I was going to let you seduce me in the restaurant and then kiss you senseless on your porch and then make you believe that inviting me in was the best choice we could have made all night." Edward paused for effect, waiting until Bella opened her eyes and looked at him before he started speaking again. His words were sparse but softer. "I was going to make love to you, Bella."

She dropped her eyes and stared at the floor, shifting her feet despite feeling comfort in his touch. He was looking for something, waiting for her to tell him he was worth it. That she was sorry. That maybe she loved him too.

But there was nothing.

Edward pulled her in tighter and chastely kissed her on the forehead, murmuring into her skin. "I'll always love you, Bella. I suppose that's my secret." He dropped his arms and turned to walk away, taking the few strides towards the door much slower than he needed to. He hadn't heard what he'd come for, but purging himself of unannounced truths seemed good enough. Leaving now, without any knowledge of the past or promise for the future, would be his last. After tonight, there would be no turning back.

Edward's hand was on the knob before he even realized Bella was beside him.

"Wait," she whispered. "I know it's wrong of me to want this, to take this from you, but I–"

He didn't wait for her to finish, not knowing what excuse she was going to say and not really caring at how foolish he was behaving. She was offering him something he'd always wanted and been too afraid to ask for. Was it wrong that their relationship had come to this, two ex-lovers finding passion where rational thoughts no longer lay? Would Edward regret this lapse in judgment in the morning when he realized how much more it would hurt knowing how much she could truly give up?

Did any of that matter?

Edward grabbed Bella's waist, pulling her towards him at the same time his lips crashed against her own. He was done trying to restrain himself. He'd always wanted to consume her and, right then, choosing not to would have been more foolish than abstaining.

Bella's hands curled against his chest, gripping the fabric of his light jacket in a feeble attempt to stop him from leaving. Edward only pushed harder, forcing Bella's body to move against his own as she trailed her fingers upwards and then threaded them through the hair at the base of his neck. One of them groaned or moaned or sucked in breath (clearly, neither was very cognizant of their surroundings) as Bella pulled the short locks until they were taut within her hands. Edward breathed harshly against her neck, landing soft butterfly kisses without meaning to. He was too preoccupied with wreaking havoc against the skin, slightly biting and then quickly coating the superficial wounds with the pliable muscle of his tongue.

Bella's concentrated scent made him heady with unrepentant desire. Even though they should be talking right now, conversing in an emotional attempt to clear the air and explain what led them to behave in similar fashions, Edward knew without thinking that using words wasn't going to fix anything. He loved her, was in love with her, would never love anyone but her… and yet, they couldn't be together. Something in Bella's past was stopping him from enjoying this night as anything but a one-time deal.

If Edward was less preoccupied with the salty taste of Bella's skin as he exposed large chunks of it, perhaps he would be angry at how quickly he had given in. But Edward couldn't think straight, couldn't focus on anything but the response of Bella's body to his insistent tongue and wayward hands. She wanted this just as much as he did (she would be a fool to admit to anything less when the contrary was so obvious with each moan and gasp she uttered) and Edward wanted to give it to her, provide a physical representation of everything his words had failed to instill within her.

Did Bella deserve such treatment, after everything she'd put him through? No, probably not. Did that mean Edward gave a shit when it seemed that he was willing to give up everything despite a goodbye orgasm? No, definitely not.

"God, I lo–"

"Don't," he growled into her belly button. "Don't say anything you don't mean."

"But it's–"

"Not if you'll regret it," he murmured into her thighs, peeling off her jeans and then kissing his way back up the smooth skin. "Just let me show you," he continued, cradling her flushed face in his hands and peppering kisses against any skin he wasn't already covering. "Just let me do this. For you. Tonight."

Bella nodded, biting her lip before letting it go and attacking his mouth again. He swiped at her tongue in his mouth and bent over to grab the backs of her thighs, standing up straight once she was pulled towards his exposed torso.

"Condoms," she breathed into his neck, "bedside drawer," sucking furiously at the hollow just behind his ear. Edward moaned, using his shoulder to prevent the back of her head from smashing into the doorframe. (He had no idea he had such a weak spot.)

When his kneecaps bounced into her mattress, Edward gently leaned forward until Bella lay comfortable beneath him. Her hair was fanned out around her head and her eyes were flushed with unbridled lust. He pulled down the top of her bra and began to tease her nipple instead of getting lost in what she was only now allowing herself to feel. He didn't want to realize what he was doing before it was over, couldn't acknowledge how badly his heart was aching while she could still see him fall apart.

"Oh, God," Bella panted, arching her back, gripping his hair, and fumbling for the button of his jeans simultaneously. "Edward," she moaned, the sound rumbling within her chest and sounding long and drawn out.

He simply went back to kissing her already swollen lips and pushed his hands behind her, yanking open the clasp to her bra and deftly pulling it off. It sailed behind his right shoulder, not even touching the ground before her already soaked-through panties joined the littered trail of clothing behind them.

Bella looked at Edward with glazed eyes, teasing her nipple and licking her lips as he stared back utterly transfixed. He was determined to remember everything about this moment, knowing that he wouldn't get another chance (a fact that only fueled his lust and contributed to a difficulty in stripping off his jeans). He finally ripped open the button at his waist and roughly pulled the material over his hips, not really caring about the fate of his zipper when there more important things to consider. (Like how long it would take to rifle through Bella's drawer, roll on a condom, and do something about this hard-as-rock erection.)

Bella moved her hand down her flat stomach, the sweat they'd already produced coating her fingers and swirling the room with summertime heat and what it feels like to fuck. Edward remembered the smell – remembered how long it had been since he'd inadvertently tasted it – and watched with bated breath as she silently slid her middle fingertip over and around her clit. One escaped sigh and a lowering of lids pushed Edward into action.

He quickly walked to the table in question (anything more was physically out of the question – Edward had to hold his erection in place just to keep it from uncomfortably moving) and pulled open the drawer. He bit his lip and used his free hand to investigate the condom situation, finally finding one foil package and making sure it was still good before carefully ripping it open and rolling it onto his shaft. His hands were shaking, but whether he was merely high on a pleasant mix of endorphins and adrenaline or simply nervous about actually having sex with Bella was too hard to figure out. Instead, he simply sucked in a ragged breath and turned to face her, immediately stilling the hand providing self-pleasure and gently moving it above her head.

No words were spoken, just soft caresses and breathy sighs as Edward kissed Bella's face and she reciprocated with light scrapes against the shifting muscles of his chest, shoulders, and back. He moved his mouth towards her ear, wanting to suck on any available skin but knowing that just the feeling of his warm exhales was enough to cause fluttering eyelids and increasingly vocal pants.

Edward slipped himself in, the ease betraying any lingering doubts he'd harbored that being like this was something a small part of her might not want to do. When Bella gasped and bucked her hips upward, Edward's eyes rolled in the back of his head and he planted his palm for leverage, spreading the fingers out against the cotton and trying not to go so fast.

She pulled his body in closer until almost every naked part was paired up with some skin on his own body, their mutual sweat causing a friction-less back-and-forth sway. Bella's eyes were closed as her blunt nails dug into his shoulder blades and Edward suddenly felt like crying, the vulnerability she was exhibiting escaping in this one unguarded moment of bliss. He felt her muscles contract as she let go and came hard around him.

Edward kept up the movement of his hips, pushing just a little bit faster until he was there too, pulsing deep within her and trying desperately to remember what it felt like. His upper body caged her in while his labored breaths slowed down and, when Bella opened her eyes, her newly flushed skin and post-coital glow warmed every part of him not already tingling with the heated gift of reciprocal desire. He kissed her softly on the lips and pulled away, walking towards the bathroom to deposit the condom.

Edward returned to find Bella languidly sprawled in bed. She demurely flipped the sheet over as a silent request and he felt a small smile form on his lips at the same time his stomach bottomed out. He didn't want to lie like this and pretend that nothing was wrong, but he knew he would regret the night more if he simply pulled back now.

Interlocking thighs and a soft, warm body curled up beside him was more hell than heaven, but Edward fought the desire to join Bella in her nap. It was just past five thirty and he was in no mood for sleep, recognizing how foolish he would be to accept the quiet gesture of a waving white flag. Bella was exhausted, he reasoned, and had no idea what she was doing. Giving in to the vibrant sexual need they both felt was one thing. Making it out to be more meaningful was another matter entirely (no matter now consuming that need may be).

Edward softly stroked her shoulders until he was satisfied she was truly asleep and then quietly slipped out of bed, forcing away the beginnings of choking sobs before they could condense and spill out. He pulled on his rumpled clothing with some semblance of despondency, trying hard not to feel like he hadn't asked for this and then taken it when offered. A migraine was dully pounding within his skull and Edward rubbed furiously at his temples in a futile effort to stop it.

He picked up what clothing he could find of Bella's and then folded everything at the foot of her bed, memorizing the tranquil lines of her face for more time than he would ever admit. A soft kiss to her forehead and a murmured 'I love you' ended things, Edward knowing that one more second caressing her skin would force him to stay and fight against what she was putting up between them.

The door of her apartment clicked shut behind him and he numbly walked down the stairs, exiting onto the street in the hazy dusk of twilight. The pinks and gold of sunset were muted with the overcast sky and Edward found the weather somewhat fitting to his already darkening mood. He walked to his hotel room and immediately curled up in the uncomfortable chair while looking blankly at the wall. He couldn't look at the bed, let alone try and sleep in it. He briefly wondered what it would feel like falling to sleep without Bella's warm body beneath his and then tried not to dwell on the answer. Edward didn't need to figure out the specifics to understand the consequences of what he'd just done.


	14. Explanations in Prose

"We choose our joys and sorrows long before we experience them." - Kahlil Gibran

Edward awoke the next morning disoriented and stiff, his limbs cramped and numb from trying to support his weight during the short and restless night's sleep. He couldn't remember slipping into unconsciousness, just on how focused he had been on Bella and whether she would understand his reasons for leaving so thoughtlessly.

The most troubling fact wasn't that their spontaneous rendezvous hadn't been at least expected or desired (because it had, for a long time). It was that Edward had at least assumed he would be doing said activities with a more emotionally coherent Bella. He knew that she had given her consent to the tryst by the normal sense of inhibition he had unexpectedly been denied, but he still couldn't help feeling that his bliss was cheapened by the very reason for their love making in the first place.

Bella still didn't want him. Couldn't be with him. Held all the cards and was denying him a much-needed explanation.

Edward was just as important as Bella in terms of their relationship and how they should have chosen to proceed regarding any bumps along the way, but her selfishness in the whole matter was simply infuriating. Shouldn't he be given the choice to decide his own involvement? Be able to determine just how and why he found himself in Bella's company? He _wanted_ to be with her, no 'if's, 'and's, or 'but's. Didn't that mean _anything_?

Edward unfolded himself from the stiff upholstery and stripped on the way to the shower, furiously rubbing his eyes of their phantom itch as he felt around for the hot water knob. The water was scalding, steam visible in floating puffs of condensed air, while he stood underneath the spray and let the pulsing droplets fruitlessly beat his knotted muscles into submission. It was the perfect opportunity to cry, but Edward stayed stoic, his chin resting against his sternum as his head slightly bobbed of its own volition.

He'd spent enough hours in such predicaments and could no longer justify anything but anger: frustration that he would never stop trying to understand why Bella couldn't admit that she loved him and annoyance that she always made everything infinitely harder. Edward had meant what he said in the apartment and still justified his reasons for speaking in the first place (he liked that he had been selfish, had burdened her with the knowledge of just how violent he'd had and would continue to love her), but couldn't find any reason to regret what had happened after. He knew he shouldn't have had sex with Bella until they were _both _ready for such a commitment, but her inability or reluctance to say 'I love you' only fueled his crumbling argument that running after her was a good idea.

Bella was protecting herself (against whom or what Edward had yet to figure out and was soon going to simply stop caring), two sides of her personality completely at war with each other. She kept mentioning high school, but he was reluctant to definitively state why that time of her life held such importance over the present, just remained in acknowledgement of such a fact. What Edward knew for certain was that she _had_ felt something akin to love for him. He could sense it in small glimpses: the way she leaned into him when he steered her around by the small of her back, how she kissed him when she thought no one was looking, how breathless she became when she lost control of her blush, how she closed her eyes and then softly sighed whenever she held his hand.

In a naïve move, Edward had held onto those moments and run away with them, excusing Bella's questioning behavior and their repeated ignorance against anything but the minute they were in (even after their conversation at the park, no other words were spoken over Edward's future location). They were both ignoring reality, but only he had failed to understand just how much of a mistake that had been.

Perhaps Bella had always assumed their relationship would fail, holding onto the dream and then finding some excuse to bail and run away. Edward should recognize such behavior, shouldn't he? When so much of his life was spent tucking away his emotions and putting up fronts left and right? It would have been hysterical that their roles were currently reversed if the whole arrangement weren't so fucking tragic. Never in his life had Edward put such fervent hope and time into a relationship. He'd never had to _work_ at anything involving other people, just did whatever he felt like doing and then waited for others to come to him. His manager, the people who bought his paintings, the women who wanted to fuck him, his family, Alice, Jasper… everyone worked around _his_ schedule, _his _wants and needs, what _he _offered.

And then there was Bella, whose avoidance only seemed to ignite his affections further.

Dormant thoughts and a week spent together shouldn't be affecting him this way. Edward should have gotten over his high school crush, met other women, tried to make more friends, and then –_ if_ he was still persistent in hooking Bella for date – realized she wasn't interested the first time he'd asked her out. There was no reason for him to have stayed in Washington after the reunion, no discernible explanation why he had refused to give up what anyone else would have shot down or rationalized away.

But all it had taken was one glance at Bella, one moment of silent mental activity, and reason was thrown out the window. Whether or not Edward's intentions for courting Bella had been pure was irrelevant at this stage of his attraction. He could no longer examine or determine precise motives of his former seventeen-year-old self, just accept that such an attraction had refused any attempts at stifling, all present attempts at explanation, and any future attempts at destruction.

Edward loved Bella. He could say it a thousand different ways and in a million different moments and nothing would change. He would still remember how he thought of her in high school, how he'd pictured her throughout college, and how his perception had only been amplified when presented with its actual inspiration. Although Edward could only foresee a lifetime filled with regret ('what if's, 'maybe's, and 'why didn't I's producing a suffocating chorus), his mental flagellation would always – and only – be in response to what he did and not to how he felt. He couldn't think back on last night (or really any single moment brought about because of Bella) with an ounce of disappointment. Because that would be denying the few wonderful moments he'd ever experienced.

Edward had always suspected it, but refusing to acquiesce to Bella's wishes when everything logical was screaming for him to stop only proved the line that bound his life together. If nothing else had occurred but his sanity, his perseverance, his inspiration, his emotional vulnerability… loving Bella would still be the only thing he knew how to do. The one thing in which he over-indulged and refused to stop. The small light at the end of a very dark tunnel.

Bella had put purpose into Edward's life when he'd come to believe no such avenue would ever be open to him. Would it have been right to deny such a welcome reprieve to madness, to depression, to unannounced grief and anger? Perhaps he _was_ a selfish creature when it came to Bella – _especially_ in regards to Bella – for why else would he continually debase himself just to be the recipient of one of her smiles, the warm end to a weary day spent fighting against the world?

Edward had done this before, had existed in silence and thought himself complete. It wasn't that returning to such a state of mind would be altogether hard (because it wouldn't), it was that now Edward fully understood exactly what he'd been missing all those years he had hid in New York. Even though he didn't want to admit it, things would be easier now with this new knowledge of loss and heartbreak. The pain and rage would continue to flow, but now he was afforded a legitimate reason to hole himself in his studio and sulk.

Edward didn't want to fight anymore. He'd shown his heart to Bella and the very best she could offer was physical release. (No one had to think during sex – what better way to forget she couldn't be with him than when her brain was shut off?) Maybe at one point he would have accepted such a gift, relishing in the connection Bella was allowing him to feel. But now Edward knew better and would settle for nothing over such a paltry expenditure of feelings. He _knew_ she could feel more for him, but was no longer equipped to figure out how to let such a discovery escape.

If all that Bella was capable of giving him was what they'd just shared, then Edward was right in leaving her. He was no longer concerned with whether she might or might not have regretted her behavior in the morning. It was the knowledge that she hadn't done everything in her power to assure Edward that she didn't want anything more. He could have stayed the night and then woken up assuming things were better between them and she would have looked guilty at unintentionally deceiving him. That one split second of awareness would have tainted the whole ordeal.

So he had left. For himself and whatever pride he still held. For the pain he would not be able to conceal. For the pity her face would have broadcast at his profound embarrassment. Perhaps that was the one selfless thing Edward had done since coming back to Forks. Still, he didn't care anymore.

The spray was turning his skin red and doing nothing to relieve the tension in his back. He simply closed his eyes and stood there.

* * *

Edward stayed in his hotel room for days, decompressing towards that one final level that would allow him to face questioning glances and unvoiced concerns about how he was fairing in relation to Bella. He had long ago anticipated such a separation was imminent, but it was only leaving her Seattle apartment that the truth was laid out for final review.

They were over.

And not only did Edward have to accept that – honestly acknowledge there was no longer a single strand of hope keeping his emotions in check – but now he had to find a way to silently let others know that he wasn't in denial about it.

_Would a look suffice? Maybe a curt, unemotional statement? Can I admit this to someone, have them do all the damage control?_

The last thing Edward wanted was pity, but he knew from experience that that was exactly what everyone would feel. They would give him a small smile, maybe a slight pat on the shoulder, and then tell him that things would work out… that time would heal most of the trauma… that it was okay for him to feel these things. But he would know, underneath everything, how pitiful he looked to them. How his behavior after his accident was misunderstood at best. How confusing this reaction to a month-long fling looked to outside eyes.

All it would take would be one careless slip of some wayward thought, tucked into the pauses of their verbal conversation, and Edward would be unable to stop himself from lashing out.

He'd brought this on himself – that was something he both acknowledged and took no notice of anymore – but there could be no more despondency after he left his hotel room. He would check out and leave Seattle, and Bella, behind.

It was raining on Saturday, thunderclouds rumbling in the distance and prematurely darkening the city skyline, but Edward woke up to hunger pains. The feeling was small – annoying, really – but it was there and reminding him that there was a world outside of Bella. That he could exist as a functioning human without the constant reminder that she didn't love him.

He checked out of the hotel, greedily breathing in the moist air before throwing everything he'd brought into the front seat of a rental car and driving away. As much as Edward thought he was ready to re-enter the world and try to explain how he'd come to realize things were officially over (that was a much longer explanation and not necessarily something he wanted to share), he still didn't want to go back to New York. Land on solid ground and have to immediately go back into the swing of things. Boring things. Mundane things. Events and places that were so removed from Bella that all they did were remind Edward of her absence.

He thought about calling the whole drive down to Forks, but knew in the pit of his stomach that he just needed to physically touch his old home before he would be able to vocalize his reasons for going there. He simply wanted to curl up into his old bed and have Esme affectionately rub circles against his back. She didn't have to say anything, just keep her weight on the mattress and only leave when he was too unconscious to feel the slight shift and tender kiss goodnight. Was that really too much to ask for?

* * *

He'd been there for almost a week, reinserting himself into their lives with nothing more than a beleaguered expression once Carlisle had opened the door. Edward knew it was selfish of him to stay in Forks after coming back unexpectedly and then leaving just as suddenly, but the presence of his mother and father's forgiveness was too overwhelming to resist. They made him feel loved and wanted, they accepted him without questions or needing an explanation, and they radiated with concern and happiness just because he was there and needed them to.

Everything changed the second Monday in May.

"Edward, honey, what's downstairs?" Esme asked.

"Dunno," Edward answered, scratching his head and yawning as he shut off the television and stretched his limbs. "It came while you were out. The Fed Ex guy didn't know either."

"Oh," she paused, turning slightly towards the stairs and then stopping before the first step. "This is fun, isn't it?"

Edward chuckled slightly, following Esme down the stairs out of curiosity more than boredom. With a stagnant career and no one to see besides the few people who were already welcome at the house (Jasper was now included in the rag-tag crew of Tanya and Peter), Edward's time had crawled to a standstill. He had no idea what he was still doing in Washington other than avoiding potential problems in New York, but he still never felt like he was running away from anything when he engaged so heartily with his parents, sister, and nephew.

An anonymously addressed box certainly livened things up a bit.

"Would you grab a knife?" Esme shouted over her shoulder, catching Edward on the last step. He sprinted towards the kitchen and then sauntered down the stairs a second time, a Swiss Army knife clutched in his fist.

"What's it say?" Edward asked, craning his neck towards the folded up note while he started flicking staples out of the cardboard.

"It's a… present." _I wonder how she knew? I certainly never told her… did she call Carlisle? Or maybe Tanya? Not that I don't appreciate the thought, but she really didn't need to send something this big after everything with Edward…_

"Mom!" Edward yelled, pausing his ministrations and feeling the ball in the pit of his stomach grow larger.

"Yeah?" she looked up, quickly folding the note and stuffing it into her pocket.

"Who's it from?"

Esme blinked rapidly, a stunned expression flitting across her face. _Should I tell him? I mean, it's going to come out eventually…_ She cleared her throat before looking at him.

"Bella."

The word was quiet and dropped heavily into the static air between them. Edward paused for a moment, his breaths labored and shuttering through his newly constricted lungs. Then he simply gritted his teeth and went back to prying staples out of the malleable cardboard, stabbing far too forcibly and with far greater attention than the job warranted.

He couldn't understand why two syllables could still affect him so much. How that one simple word could pull the air out of his lungs and throw his body into a panic that had so easily betrayed his calm façade. Wasn't he fucking _over_ this already? Over the incessant pining and unexpected tears? Past the sleepless nights and unexplainable romantic hope? In acknowledgement of the deep primal need to know every single detail about her life and above reacting in such a way that modeled being punched in the gut?

It was a gift. A fucking sensible anniversary gift for his parents.

It had nothing to do with Edward or how his relationship with the sender was so unbelievably confusing and _always_ felt unresolved. Logically, he shouldn't even be privy to such a gesture, shouldn't have a knife in his hand and definitely shouldn't be discretely stabbing cardboard.

Esme walked behind Edward and slowly pulled apart the previously stapled areas, unsuccessfully containing the hundreds of packing peanuts that slipped out and littered the floor. When he had removed all the staples and stood straight again (closing the knife – there was no need for him to accidently brush his hand across his jaw and slice open skin), he watched Esme expose the heavily wrapped item.

Taped in the center was a second envelope, blank and unsealed. Esme reached for it while Edward cautiously slid his fingers against the pliable foam that encompassed the entire _thing_ Bella had sent his parents. He slowly unwrapped a corner and recognized canvas, the discovery spurning his fingers forward until the top portion of the painting was revealed.

He sucked in a breath and immediately stepped back, his wide eyes matching the open pout of his lips. His head shook back and forth in tiny incremental movements as Esme finished the job he'd started, finally exposing the piece of art and stepping back to admire it.

"It's… beautiful," she breathed. "It looks so… familiar, though. Have I seen this before? Maybe in an art book or in one of those articles Alice sends me?" _Maybe in the bedroom, above the headboard? It doesn't really go with the color palate though… more in line with the study but I couldn't bear to tuck this away and hardly ever see it…_

Edward rapidly shook his head 'no' before clearing his throat and speaking. "No," he croaked out.

"What?" Esme distractedly replied, finally looking up at her son's face and responding to his anxious glance with confusion of her own.

"It looks familiar because…" He couldn't say it. Couldn't admit the words that had been stuck in the back of his throat since he'd seen the thin black script scrawled angrily against the bleeding red canvas. He didn't know how Bella had gotten her hands on this painting and, further still, why she'd felt a need to send it to his parents where she must have known he'd see it eventually. Was it some kind of joke? An attempt to mock him?

"Edward?" Esme questioned, one hand lightly resting on his tense forearm.

"It's mine," he spit out, "I painted it."

"But… how?"

"I don't know… I had no idea… I didn't even know who bought it… just forgot about it until right now… I fucking hate that painting… why would she send it here…" The words were spilling out of Edward's mouth, his internal filter broken and discarded with all the questions he now had to ask himself.

He was staring apprehensively at the first actual work of art he'd ever created as an independent artist. He remembered how much his freshman year roommate had complained about the smell of acrylic and the many late nights he'd spent staring at the painting without adding any detail. It had just been red then, many, many layers of every shade he could find in the art store spread thin in some places and then fingernail thick in others.

Edward was broken about Bella and still so angry with Rosalie (when he actually let himself comprehend her infidelity) that the iconic color seemed appropriate. He was falling in love with one girl and realizing how little he had actually loved the other and, yet, he was still alone and marginally depressed. The canvas had stayed that blending of solid color for weeks until the night of a Halloween party when Edward's roommate left alone (already drunk and much friendlier than normal) and he pulled out his secret stash of alcohol and got himself pleasantly trashed. And suddenly, his work-in-progress had found a way to be complete.

Edward added thick shadow lines on the right-hand side, creating a burgeoning heart ready to burst, and then painstakingly wrote love letters to the two women he'd left behind in Forks. Layer upon layer of tiny black script, feeding and twisting into this monstrous symbol for a feeling he'd only been burdened with up to that point.

"First Love" he called it.

He'd never told anyone about the painting other than his manager and Alice and only because it sold anonymously when he was twenty-three. To see it in his parents' foyer gave Edward chills up his spine; to know that it came from Bella made him nauseous.

_Is it a coincidence that this particular painting was sent to Mom and Dad or did Bella know exactly what she was doing? Did she plan this or only send it after I showed up in Seattle? Did she understand the subject matter? Why didn't she ever tell me she had it? Was she the original buyer? If so, why do so anonymously?_

There _could_ be a simple explanation to everything, some one-line story that Bella would tell to wrap up every loose end that was now tangled. But the actual painting, its subject matter, the timing of such a gift, and the silence surrounding both the sale and the intent (_why hold onto something for six years and only now give it away?_) only made Edward more confused. This couldn't just be a coincidence. Bella had to have known what she'd once possessed and how Edward would perceive her intentions to no longer hold onto it.

Right?

Because _nothing_ surrounding Bella was simple. Not her relationship with Edward, her silent reasons for being unable to admit she'd fallen in love, the lies she'd told him because she was scared to commit, or the way she ran away when things got too hard and then didn't tell anyone why she was going.

The phone rang, startling Edward out of his thoughts. He watched Esme hurry up the stairs before slowly walking towards the hastily discarded envelope. His curiosity at knowing what Bella had written upended his usual penchant to respect other's privacy.

The folded paper made far too much noise as Edward unfolded it.

_Esme_

_I once told Edward to save his 'first love' for me... maybe now he'll know what I was talking about. (What I would have given to see his face reading that message!) Even before I knew you through my time with Peter, I always had a little piece of Cullen keeping me in check and I don't feel right keeping it boxed up while I figure out where I'm going._

_I know that you and Carlisle will appreciate it just as much as I did._

_PS. If I have just one student with half as much flair for a paintbrush as your son, I'll consider my teaching career 'made.' It was wonderful seeing him find his way._

_Bella_

The single sheet started rustling in Edward's grip as his right hand shook with nervous energy.

_She told me to save my 'first love' for her?_

Everything else in Bella's note was now irrelevant. That one line only proved that she knew something he didn't. That she had specifically planned that message with this painting. He didn't know how or why she'd written the message and was only focused on the cryptic nature of her ability to laugh at him through paper. As if she had planned this years ago, had known that he would read that message (_what fucking message?_) and not understand its significance until this very moment.

It was all very Twilight Zone.

_Okay… think, Cullen._

"_Save his first love for me"…. "Save his 'first love' for me"…. First love has quotes…_

_That means something._

_I know! Just… something more than the first person I fell in love with. A play on words?_

_Maybe the painting… but that's fucking weird and a creepy-ass level of intuition or coincidental guesswork._

_Exactly… but she says she _told_ me… like she came up to me one day and said something._

_Or wrote you a note._

_Yeah, but I would have replied to something like that, especially if it was from Bella and I hadn't seen her in years._

_Maybe she wrote you a note some place she knew you would find… like some anonymous spot she could scribble away and not have to tell you she wrote it–_

_Fuck._

Edward's head shot up and he dropped the note in his hand, taking both sets of stairs two steps at a time.

_Why didn't I check that fucking thing… I just left it here all those years ago and never once looked inside…_

_But, dude, you never _asked_ anyone to sign it._

_And? I didn't throw it away either. Bella's sneaky. She probably grabbed it while I was in the bathroom or something and then never said anything for the past decade because she's never told me one damn thing about what she remembers or knows about me since I graduated high school._

Edward reached his room and walked directly to his bookcase, visually scanning the shelves without finding what he was looking for.

"Dammit! Where the fuck is it?" he growled, crawling on hands and knees and shoving half his body underneath his twin bed before backing up and pulling out a dust-covered box in his grip. "Holy shit," he wheezed, the dust swirling and almost making him sneeze.

The taped box was marked "EDWARD BEDROOM – 2004" in thick black marker. Edward started ripping through the clear adhesive after only a second of recollection, realizing that Esme must have boxed up the few possessions he'd left so that Peter could officially take over the room when he was old enough. Edward knew there hadn't been anything of substance in his room when he permanently left for New York… maybe a few ripped out posters, old textbooks, and more emotionally neutral teenage artifacts, but underneath everything was the one item he was now desperate to leaf through.

The Forks High School yearbook, Class of 1998.

Edward quickly leafed through the pages, stopping at his yearbook picture and then Bella's without finding anything out of the ordinary. He flipped through the rest of the pages half-heartedly, not expecting to find anything but unwilling to simply give up without looking. The book slapped shut before he paused on the floor, slowly opening the back cover and staring at the almost-blank 'Notes' page. There, in black ink, was something of substance.

_You'll be amazing, Edward… I just know it. Don't forget about me when you're famous, okay? I'm counting on you to give me your first love._

_- Bella_

His eyes skimmed over the words twice, three times… a dozen turns before he gave up and stared into the bookcase as if the painted wood would give him an answer. He could only comprehend one thing: Bella was right. The only way this prediction made sense was because _his_ "First Love" was two floors away. The fact that she had referenced her own message when specially talking about the painting was merely added information. And since it was too odd to think that Bella had rifled through his room while he was in New York, opened the box, written in his yearbook, and then taped the box shut again only to shove it under the bed and pretend like nothing had happened, Edward knew that she had written the message in high school.

Eleven years before this moment, five years before she bought the object in question, and six months before he'd even painted anything.

It didn't make sense. Not one fucking shred of sense. How could she have guessed? Have known? Predicted that he would become a famous artist? That he would paint something and call it "First Love"?

The shiny pages of his yearbook squeaked as Edward's sweaty fingers slid across them, his fingertips white with the loss of blood. He'd told himself he was done, that he had walked out her door for the last time. And now he sat cross-legged in his old bedroom wondering what the fuck was going on, and knew that finding out the truth was more important than whatever promise he'd made to himself.

Within half an hour, Edward had kissed Esme goodbye and run out the door, mumbling an 'I just have to see her' excuse to his mother's confused questions about his sudden departure. He sped the whole way to Seattle, not even caring he might be pulled over and not bothering to thank the appropriate deity when he parallel-parked two hours later ticket free.

His thumb was pushed into the buzzer, the sound echoing with no answer before the digit slipped off the small plastic button and Edward's eyes focused on the blank space beside it. Every other apartment had its tenant's named clearly marked and then there was apartment 5B, deceptively empty.

'B. Swan' was missing.

Edward quickly moved his index finger to the first button and buzzed once.

"Yeah?" the gruff voice coughed.

"Um, I was looking for Bella? Bella Swan?" Edward was fidgeting, his left hand already rubbing against the back of his neck.

"What's your name?"

"Edward, Edward Cullen."

The door buzzed open and Edward yanked the handle, running down the hallway towards the only apartment on the first floor. He skidded to a stop and had one fist already poised to knock before the door swung open.

"She's gone, you know?" the man stated, one hand crossed underneath his left armpit while his free fingers picked through his teeth.

"Yes… I don't have her phone number and I was just here a couple weeks ago and–"

"She left this," he cut off, unfurling his arm and handing Edward an envelope, 'Edward Cullen' scrawled on top in Bella's unmistakable messy handwriting. "Kinda odd but paid her rent on time and left me with a full month even though she barely made it through the first week of May."

"Is this it?" Edward asked, his voice clipped while he fingered the thin letter with a sense of agitation.

"Yeah," the man nodded. Edward quickly turned around and started to walk away, not paying any attention to the voice that followed him. "You're welcome!" the man muttered. "Good for nothin' kids these days… I didn't _have_ to keep the damn note…"

Edward's eyes barely left the sidewalk before he reached his car and climbed in, sitting stoically in the driver's seat while the sealed envelope twirled within his fingertips. He locked the doors, took a deep breath, and then carefully opened the letter with shaking hands.

Four hand-written pages torn out of a notebook, the frayed edges still attached.

_Have you ever experienced déjà vu, Edward? That split second of awareness that you've been in a moment before? I live that every day. I don't know why or how it happens, just that I wake up from a dream and then watch every single second play out exactly how I've seen it. Sometimes it takes days for a vision to come true and other times weeks, months, years… it doesn't matter how long, just that when something eventually happens, it's an exact replica of what I've predicted._

_I was five years old the first time it happened: I felt myself fall out of a tree and then start crying on the ground until a concerned face dried my tears away, helped me to my feet, and then brought me to the nurse's office without any more scrapes. Imagine my surprise when more strange dreams followed, visions as clear as if they'd already happened and I was simply sitting in front of the television so I could memorize the details._

_In the third grade I climbed a tree and was hit with the realization that I'd been there before. Had climbed that tree and then… fallen out. I think I was hyperventilating with the sheer terror of my situation (what nine-year-old has the capacity to accept or understand they're clairvoyant?) when the sting of dirt in a fresh wound made tears slide down my fate. Did I make that happen? Or was it just supposed to happen? You came running over (yes you… do you even remember?) and I sat mute on the ground, unsure of how I could have predicted such an event and still be surprised that it came true._

_With time, I realized that my dreams had the ability to shift with my decisions. They never went away completely, just sometimes started out as fuzzy interpretations until one night everything was in focus or some new dream had taken its place. And they were always there in the back of my mind, dictating my behavior until I learned to live with their presence and accept that they were never wrong._

_But if I could, I would give everything back and rely on faith alone, that blind urge everyone feels to accomplish their imaginary goals. Because it was you, Edward, always you. Without needing to know how or where we would end up, my heart still understood that _you_ were guiding me towards perfection and causing my lonely planet to orbit._

_I don't know what made you break up with Rosalie in high school, but I must confess that once you did, everything changed. I was no longer dreaming of faceless men taking my breath away… making love to me in meadows… surprising me with flowers every day I needed them to. It was you, Edward, my prince in shining armor come to rescue the bashful, clumsy damsel in distress._

_But I couldn't let you carry out what I'd predicted. I was too horrified by what I'd been seeing those faceless men do for years that it scared me to know that if one incarnation of this faceless man would turn into you, what was stopping those other incarnations from becoming you as well? So I stayed silent and prayed you wouldn't approach me, always knowing that I would give in without being able to warn you how awful our relationship would become. ('I'm sorry but I can't date you because in about ten years you're going to cheat on me and leave me with our unborn child and cause me to fall into a debilitating depression' just never cut it.)_

_I didn't want to love you, Edward, couldn't accept that the sweet ten-year-old boy who smoothed my tears away on the playground would turn out to be such a monster. It wasn't you, Edward… that vile man who showed up on my porch and told our eight-month-old baby we weren't good enough. Walked away from a beautiful relationship for someone else and forgot how much I loved him._

_But it _was_ you… a future version of you that made me fall in love and then broke my heart._

_I could never let myself forget that. It was always selfish to do so, but as much as I loved you, nothing could have made me knowingly walk into such a miserable existence (not even the years and years of happiness we _would_ share). So I stayed quiet and told myself it was better that you moved away, that I was happier without such a person in my life… except that you came back and you wouldn't give up and I could no longer refuse you. _

_I should have told you, Edward, should have explained why Jane's insipid remarks and Kate's note didn't so much as push me over the edge as tell me why I should jump in the first place. It was an out and I had to take it… for my future sanity and the years of grief I didn't want to feel just because being with you now was easy or made me happy._

_I did love you, did want to be with you… still love you, still want to be with you… but I was so scared and so hopelessly in love that I knew I would make things come true just by staying. I would _let_ you hurt me because I knew what would happen and would still refuse to have it any other way._

_I lied to you, that day at your house. I was so angry that I'd gone against my better judgment and allowed myself to fall in love with you, so unbelievably nauseous at the thought that you could stand outside my house and beg for forgiveness – that if I let you get away with such behavior once, I was only setting you up for a repeat performance. Except we would have had a baby by then, would have been married… and you still would have cheated and walked away._

_I'm not sorry for loving you – perhaps that's _my_ secret. I'm merely ashamed I could never say no. I just hoped you would take the hint and leave in November the first time you asked me out. Instead you stayed and poured your heart out and treated me so beautifully that I only remembered why I was supposed to fall in love with you in the first place, how easy it would be to get caught up in romance and forget how things turned out._

_Please don't come and find me. Whether you accept my reasons or not, please don't make me hate you. Because if you come and find me, I won't be strong enough to refuse you. I will let you back into my life and I will love you with every fiber of my being. And then you will still leave me._

_If you love me at all… remember what we shared those few short weeks and keep my heart from breaking._

Edward refolded the sheets of paper and slid them into the envelope, carelessly throwing the letter onto the passenger seat. He started his car and carefully pulled out into traffic, gripping the steering wheel the whole ride home.

Her confession only made everything beyond fucked up.


	15. The Acceptance Of Failure

Edward wanted to follow Bella.

Every cell in his body was vibrating with unreleased energy, causing his fingers and left foot to consistently tap against the inside of his rental car. Each mile marker bringing Edward closer to Forks only mocked his weakening resolve, the double yellow line growing fuzzy with his focused concentration.

He couldn't deny that it was more than just a want now.

No longer was Edward merely desirous of a simple explanation as to why Bella had continuously allowed her own insecurities to overtake whatever kind of relationship they'd actually had before they broke up. Now his curiosity was a need, some foreign mass deep within his stomach, pulsing with life and growing stronger the more minutes blinked past by way of the dashboard clock.

Bella's letter had explained everything and yet revealed nothing. Each errant wish to slow the car down and maneuver some type of u-turn only brought Edward that much closer to violent frustrated anger.

_You did this_ he would think. _She asked you to leave because of what you will do to her_.

And then he would grip the steering wheel tighter and drive on, disappointment curling in his chest and fueling his self-deprecation. He loved Bella, didn't he? He couldn't be selfish now, could he? When he would just end up living each day constantly on the verge of self-suspicion, looking over his shoulder for the moment he would finally choose to cheat? Is that how it would happen? Their marriage slowly falling apart because they were expecting it to?

Edward didn't believe himself to be that kind of monster, though, couldn't fathom loving Bella as much as he did and _still_ not knowing she was the only woman who could make him happy. He tried not to torture himself in the quiet car, but there was nothing else he could do except wonder how his future life could turn to such shit. And it wasn't just that Edward had to wrap his mind around the concept of how, when, and why he would participate in an act of infidelity, it was that he also had to will himself to believe _she_ could.

Edward thought he knew Bella Swan. Thought he knew her nervous ticks and how she would smile when she was satisfied with whatever art project they had been working on in high school. Thought he could predict when she wanted to be tenderly kissed on the lips and when she preferred a more feral make-out session. Thought he understood her love for Peter and an unspoken desire to settle down and start a family.

And he thought that she had known him, too. Saw how happy she had made him just by being in the same room and lightly touching some part of her body to some part of his own. Accepted that all he'd ever wanted to do since coming back to Forks was spend every waking moment memorizing the way her eyes lit up when she saw him from across the room and then covering her blush with kisses – because he loved that blush and knew he was almost always the cause.

Could she have really doubted him? Doubted his incessant pestering for dates? His obsessive need to have her instinctually _know_ what she had always meant to him even when he was too afraid to tell her? The way he kissed her and never stopped staring no matter who was in the room? How he felt safe and breathed easier just because she was near?

Edward didn't know which was harder: accepting that Bella had left him or knowing why she had walked away. But this was a new kind of a hurt, a deep primal pain that had already started showing its malicious physical symptoms. He had made it to his favorite forest hideaway before he was able to stop the car and get out without fear that someone would wonder what was wrong, what had made him suddenly grip his chest in a panic and stutter through shaky breaths.

After everything Edward had told her, every single moment they had spent together, each day that had passed with him in emotional agony… Bella still believed he would hurt her. And that was what upset him the most, the knife that cut him open and made his heart physically ache.

She believed him to be a monster and there was nothing he could do to change her mind.

Edward knelt down in the wet dirt, one hand digging into the brown mass while the other scratched against his t-shirt, hoping that the paltry movement would somehow remove what he couldn't even physically grasp. He greedily sucked in cool mountain air as his lungs worked overtime, unsuccessfully staving off a rising emotional panic. The one arm supporting him gave out and Edward's forehead smacked against the ground roughly, streaking his creased forehead while small rocks pressed into the skin of his face.

He closed his eyes and counted, willing his heart to stop racing as much as he relished his body's attempts at stopping its own destruction. He knew having the closest thing to a panic attack on the side of a dirt road while his keys swayed uselessly in the ignition and the _ding ding ding_ of his open door kept time with his breaths wasn't going to solve anything. Edward wouldn't find answers in this crouched-over position, nor would Bella suddenly realize how cowardly she was behaving just because his psychological pain was suddenly too much for him to bear.

And yet, his body was determined to fight off the phantom pain Edward's brain was having a hard time trying to control. His muscles were contracting and his pulse was racing and adrenaline was coursing through his veins… all in an attempt to weed out his heartbreak. Letting him know that he could fight this, whatever it was, that every cell in his body was against such hurt even if he chose to believe otherwise.

It was dark before Edward felt calm enough to face his parents and their worried apprehensive glances. He should have been happy he was almost to the point of proactive anger, some emotion he had barely felt since the reunion when Bella's refusal had started this endless back and forth. As it was, he was simply glad his car battery still worked. He knew he wouldn't have been able to honestly explain why his car broke down in the middle of the woods if he'd been forced to leave it there and trek back home on foot.

It was the little things, he told himself, the useless mundane points of interest he now had to look forward to.

* * *

Esme and Carlisle knew better than to become complacent about their son's presence in Forks. They understood better than anyone what it felt like to lose him unexpectedly, to be denied the knowledge of when or if he would be coming home. They had never resented him for such flighty and solitary behavior, though, not quite understanding the change his accident had wrought but still accepting that his new Edward would never magically morph into the child they had once grown accustomed to.

Together they had become cautious after he had permanently left for New York and stopped calling them. Carlisle had never given up hope that his son would find a reason to return (however temporary that reason might turn out to be), but he was much quieter in his grief, blaming himself for questions that had never been given answers and respecting Edward's desires to appear cut off. It was his wife, then, to which the sole responsibility fell for keeping up the familial charade. Esme never took it to heart when she became the sole instigator of contact, acknowledging that there must be a reason her son didn't call her first – because he always answered when she did, even if that gradually became only two times per year.

Having Edward return not once but twice – longer than a week and for no other reason than to be near them – was the culmination of six years spent lying in wait. For Esme and Carlisle, it didn't matter that their wayward son never once spoke of his time alone on the East Coast or even that an 'I'm sorry, I miss you' didn't past through his mostly quiet lips. He was their _son_ and they had missed him and that was really all that mattered in what had turned out to be very brief moments.

They could lose him again, have him pack up and leave just as suddenly as he had come and then what? Would they remember his short stay because they had held a proud grudge? Been unable to embrace Edward's physical presence because they were slightly angry he never called? Those were paltry reasons in the grand scheme of life. Esme and Carlisle knew their lives could end at any moment, that their children or grandchild could be taken in a split second, and they refused to spend any time not deliriously happy that their son was finally home in the house he grew up in.

They could see his anger, his heartbreak, even those rare moments he felt relaxed enough to behave like his former carefree self, and none of it diminished the fact that they were experiencing those emotions with him. Because who knew if there would be a second chance?

When Edward quietly trudged up the stairs and holed himself in his room, Esme felt a lead weight drop into the pit of her stomach.

_He's going to leave again_.

She didn't know how she knew that _this_ time was different than all the rest, but she felt it deep within her bones, her maternal intuition kicking into overdrive. She carefully closed her book and perched her eyeglasses on top of the worn paperback cover, silently walking up the stairs to savor the now dwindling moments.

"Edward?" Esme softly asked, Edward's bedroom doom noiselessly opening into his darkened room with the question.

His breathing was deep but still held a slight catch on the intake as if had been crying and was only now calming down. When he didn't answer, Esme pushed the door closed so only a sliver of hall light illuminated the hardwood floor and then strode to Edward's bed, half-sitting against his upper back. He was curled up in a ball with his face towards the wall and Esme tentatively reached towards his forehead, gently sweeping the hair back again and again.

She didn't say anything, just kept up her ministrations until Edward rolled over and rested his right arm in her lap. Esme paused before working one hand towards his back, rubbing large circles into the thin material of his t-shirt. Her free hand wove into his hair again and relished the unspoken connection she hadn't felt since Edward was less than ten and wasn't too embarrassed to enjoy this soothing drift towards unconsciousness.

When Esme heard the shift in breath, that delicate elongation that marked a shutdown of voluntary behavior, she slowed both hands and bent down to kiss her son's forehead, feeling the warmth for longer than she would have been able had two people been awake.

"I love you, Edward," she whispered, standing up and waiting until the mattress sprang back up to its former position. "Goodnight." She paused at the doorway before quietly clicking the door shut and padding down the stairs and into her husband's study without knocking. "It's time," she breathed heavily, leaning her weight against Carlisle's shoulders and pecking him on the neck. "I'm going to go to bed."

"Okay," Carlisle responded, removing his glasses and following Esme towards their bedroom and holding her hand the whole way there.

They were just as subdued as Edward, except they did not share the luxury of walking away. They had long ago accepted he would always be the one leaving them behind, his back to them as he strode towards an unknown future alone.

It never got any easier.

* * *

True to Esme's prediction, Edward left Washington on Wednesday afternoon. Although he barely gave anyone the true reason for his departure, he did not leave without saying 'goodbye', finally admitting that it was the place that was getting under his skin – the absence of a specific person instead of the presence of many – and creeping deep into his subconscious until he felt like he couldn't breathe. There were too many memories in Forks, too much disappointment, anger, and heartbreak for Edward to appropriately appreciate the few good experiences he'd had within the last seven months.

His family understood, even Jasper and Peter simply 'got' that Edward was less moody across the country and could only become content with his life if he wasn't continuously reminded of Bella. Even if no one intimately acquainted with Edward particularly enjoyed getting their hopes up that maybe his most current visit would prove somewhat permanent (at least as permanent as a set departure date could be), they were more concerned with allowing him to try and find happiness.

Of the five people concerned with Edward's roots in Forks, not one denied that his moods fluctuated with the presence of Bella. And she wasn't here, wasn't avoiding Edward with the same determination he was trying to get over her. They knew, without a doubt, that her absence only made his heart grow fonder. He needed to leave and they couldn't find the strength to stop him.

* * *

Two months. Almost two straight months of constant feverish energy prompting Edward to create in droves. Whatever he couldn't get out before was suddenly overflowing the few hours he wasn't letting himself rest, eat, or sleep. It was like a sickness, taking over and holding every emotion hostage until it was let out on canvas or paper, all the pain and anger Edward had bottled up for God knows how long begging to finally be released.

His works started piling up and he merely complained he was running out of supplies, content to not even take a second glance at a finished painting for fear that he'd lose whatever he'd started. Edward _needed_ this, fed off his own pain and then shit it back out for public consumption. He knew he was painting about his relationship with Bella – all twelve years of humiliating, crippling heartbreak – but the actual physical manifestation of every single emotion he'd ever felt didn't register. They weren't important when he'd never felt so creative in his life.

Steve was beyond excited, hailing the great return of the 'best new artist' and Edward went along for the ride, numbly agreeing to public appearances, open studio time, and gallery events.

And tonight was _it_, the first night back and he wasn't ready. Not even close.

His skin was itchy and his nerves on end. He didn't know what the fuck he had been thinking getting himself involved with something so stressful and _noisy_ so soon after things ended with Bella, but he couldn't worry about that now when he'd obviously already agreed.

Edward felt constantly on edge, his head slightly twitching whenever he'd lose concentration and tap into the horrendously congested crowd of people both Alice and Steve had managed to contact after an absence such as his. Edward didn't think that his problem lay in whether or not he was 'ready' _now_, months after Bella's confession and the knowledge that he really _did_ have to 'get over her' (whatever the fuck that meant). It probed deeper than that and his anxiety over the whole situation rested in the fact that he might never be ready, might never find comfort in a social society that did not include the one person who no longer wanted him.

Things would be expected of him because he was single, and he could no longer hide behind his long-lost crush of formative years. Edward would perhaps die alone, maybe even still heartbroken, and that scared him most of all. That once word got out, he would have to double his resistance or retreat altogether. And did he honestly want that, a half-lived life that was only consistent because of a permanent scowl and round-trip flights to Washington whenever a birthday or holiday came up?

_No_ he muttered. _Bella may have given me a reason to, but I refuse to stop living, refuse to find nothing of interest that isn't–_

"Mr. Cullen!" a woman admonished, "your work is _beautiful_." She stuck her manicured fingers onto Edward's forearm and coyly stared from beneath her lashes. _Still hot as I remember… I wonder if he'll get drunk enough and come home with me again… best fuck I've ever had… Eli's more apt to notice something, though, what with that whole 'Jerry' debac–_

"Yes, thank you," Edward stuttered out, removing his arm and quickly walking away from the woman he couldn't remember bedding. _Maybe another time_ he thought wryly. _I'm obviously not in the mood to check out the not-so available prospects._

He strode through the throngs of people, smiling kindly at those who genuinely admired his work and quickly turning away from the few women (and lone man) utterly intent on making their attraction known.

_Was I always drunk at these things? Completely trashed beyond the socially acceptable limit? How the _fuck_ am I supposed to get through three more hours of these pompous fucks groveling on their knees to some person they don't even–_

"You okay?" Alice quietly asked, her hand tentatively resting on Edward's tense shoulder. _You look miserable._

"Yes, I'm fine, Alice," he responded, sweeping one hand across his face while the other gripped a just-opened beer.

"You sure?" she questioned, her eyes searching his face for some discernable mark that he was lying. _I can probably sneak him out if he needs me..._

"Yes, please," he stopped her, touching her shoulder gently, "I will have to get used to these things eventually. Might as well start now, right?"

Alice nodded_. Full of shit_. "But you'll let me know? If anything changes?"

"You'll be the first to know when I've had enough," he laughed without humor. She took one last look before walking towards the back wall, Edward following her movements until he gave Jasper one short nod of recognition and then turned away.

He wasn't okay, wasn't close to being okay or even comfortable when he was surrounded by a room full of strangers hanging on the so-called 'talent' they all 'admired'. But he hadn't lied to Alice when he'd given his reason – he really did have to get used to showcasing his work again if he wanted to keep what inspiration had resurfaced. It wasn't likely, but he might need the money someday, might run out of cash or suddenly be in want of his child's trust fund…

Edward knew that he could be perfectly content if he decided to retire and never again display public work. He would still paint, would still use his artistic expression to emotionally capture what his words and actions had somehow failed to accomplish. But all he would be accomplishing was a claustrophobic amount of subtle reminders to the darkest time in his life. Showcasing work had its flaws, but it sure as shit got all his pain about Bella out of his sight.

Standing with his back against the wall and dumbly nodding at whatever the person talking to him was saying, Edward suddenly realized that each painting tacked to the wall and on sale was solely and completely inspired by Bella. He hadn't even been subtle about it either, not like all the paintings he'd finished in secret within the last decade that were now packed in storage somewhere in New York (he left those details to Alice). If Bella's face wasn't arguably sketched onto canvas, then the words he wanted to say to her were – tall block letters spelling out private rage and a thinly veiled depression – or the title was an obvious clue.

The patrons in the room with him had to be stupid to not see such a connection (but perhaps they really were stupid when they didn't, or maybe Edward was too distracted to really care). It was just so _blatant_, mocking him on all sides and causing his hand to involuntarily perch the cool glass bottle against his lips.

He didn't want to be here with all these people, didn't want to have his whole failed relationship with Bella splayed across six walls and _still_ not have anyone get it. But how else could he function if not so publically, so unmistakably trapped in the jaws of love?

He couldn't. He decided to get drunk instead.

On his sixth beer, Edward had pissed off enough people that most were afraid to sing their praises anymore, quietly peaking at him over their shoulder or behind someone else until he scowled in their general direction and they blushed in embarrassment. He was more focused on the blurry brunette across the room, a woman that reminded him so much of Bella that his heart physically ached and he knew he had to be seeing things.

She wasn't here in his studio, cautiously glancing at him from in front of "Swan Song" and furiously chewing her lip. She wasn't smiling at a strange man who had mustered enough courage to talk to her in the form of an offered free drink. She wasn't unabashedly laughing at some lame joke and, once Edward had quickly looked away to shoo off another unspoken plea at getting in his pants, hadn't moved from his line of sight.

She wasn't here because she didn't want him.

Edward could have gone after the girl, could have slammed his beer down on the bar and stalked the entire room until he found her. But what would he prove? That he was delusional and seeing things? That he was still obsessed with someone he really didn't want to be obsessed with? That he was jealous of every guy who was ever going to talk to a beautiful brown-haired girl? That this person wasn't even Bella and he'd gotten his hopes up for nothing?

He was too pissed off and not-quite drunk enough to do much aside from some directed scowling and an occasional grunt in the brunette's unfortunate direction. Everything about this godforsaken night was reminding Edward of things he'd rather not think about ever again, a certain somebody he was constantly trying to escape, and he was suddenly exhausted.

_Good… he's still here. One more hint won't hurt, will it? I mean… he couldn't have _completely_ forgotten…_

Edward was watching the woman saunter over to him with a small, coy smile on her face. She was the same one who had approached him earlier in the evening –

_God he makes me so wet…_

– stressed about someone named Eli and granting Edward the unimportant superlative 'best fuck.' He didn't want the descriptive play-by-play of a one-night stand he couldn't remember having (or initiating – she must have done that part as well) but her mental filter was broken and all Edward was hearing was the best parts of their encounter, her hopes of a replay, and how easy he looked the closer she got.

The only thing Edward was focused on was the pain he felt at thinking he had seen Bella (the reason for his semi-drunkenness in the first place) and the mild anger that act had produced. Why _wasn't_ she here? Fighting for what she'd pushed away and telling him she was wrong and stupid and needed him after all?

If being with other women (even ones who had nothing in common with Bella) was always going to be difficult, then why couldn't Edward say 'fuck it' and try and forget what she'd ever meant to him? It was that or living some semblance of a half-life, existing day to day while everything and everyone passed him by. Which was more palpable: ignoring the pain as if it had never existed or letting it slowly kill him?

His head was pounding, the voices in his head were muted with the alcohol, and his dick hurt with the first pulls of arousal he'd let himself feel in months. The woman's lips were glistening with that Megan Fox shine and her breasts were lightly bouncing with the effort it took to approach him.

Edward was horny and he had to start sometime; he might as well get this the fuck over with.

"Hi," she breathed, rubbing Edward's forearm. "I didn't get a chance to introduce myself before." _Even though I shouldn't have to_. "My name's Denise."

"You wanna get out of here?" he spoke, staring at the space between her eyes and watching everything move in and out of focus.

She licked her lips and paused. _I cannot _wait _to fucking suck– _"Sure," she cocked her head towards the door, "my place or yours?"

"Yours," Edward said without thinking, grabbing Denise's hand and pulling her towards the exit, not looking at anyone or anything besides the small slant of light coming through the stairwell window.

He didn't necessarily want to fuck Denise, just needed to expel his body of the relentless energy it had currently focused on Bella and she happened to be offering him the chance. Bella didn't want him and he better damn well get used to the idea or else go crazy in the process.

He had done _this _before – fucked random women while thinking of Bella and then thought nothing of his behavior afterwards – but he could make excuses then. He was a coward, scared, lazy… whatever. Because he hadn't really _known_ Bella and was living with 'what if's. And now that he did? The dull ache in his chest was testament to that – Edward wanted her no less than before.

But she had rejected _him_. He had given everything to her and all she had done was end everything with a simple plea: _don't hurt me_. If Bella was going to accuse Edward of cheating, of making poor decisions in regards to his romantic life, then he was just going to stop pretending he didn't know what the hell she was going on about. He was just so angry that suddenly he wanted to give her a concrete reason to hate him.

And Edward _could _do it, could fuck around and pretend like it didn't hurt him to try.

Maybe he would never feel good about his behavior, but there was nothing he could do anymore that would change Bella's mind. He had to try something different.

Denise was casually rubbing the zipper of Edward's jeans and he didn't know whether to be appalled or impressed his dick was responding so quickly. He spread his legs further apart to heed her ministrations (he would later claim his jeans were just feeling tight) and she smirked, the movement of her lips the only clue that she was acknowledging her own behavior.

The taxi stopped and Denise quickly stepped out, leaving Edward inside the car and thus responsible for the twenty-dollar fine. He got out and immediately shifted his pants, trying hard not to be obvious about what he was doing. Denise raised her eyebrow and then they were walking up a flight of stairs without saying anything. Edward stared at her ass as the fabric of her dress slightly rode up with each step. He didn't want to really think about what he was doing, just detach from his emotional state and experience physical gratification. Staring at someone's ass shoved into an obscenely short dress would allow him to do that.

If he could even, for one second, forget why he was here, than maybe the night would be worth it.

Denise unlocked the door to her dark apartment and pulled Edward in behind her, shoving him against the wall and locking the door at the same time she pushed her tongue in his mouth. The kiss was frantic and demanding, its provider doing nothing but making assumptions about what Edward 'needed' by his reaction in the cab ride over. His hands went to her shoulders – to push her off or away or just somewhere _not_ up against his chest the way she was – but Denise detached her mouth from Edward's and started attacking his neck instead.

Her hands snaked beneath the fabric of his shirt and she used her nails to rake against his stomach muscles. Edward merely held tightly to her shoulders and pushed, trying to give himself a moment to accept that this was what he really wanted. Denise mistook the action for impatience and chuckled, biting his hipbone for good measure before she hurriedly opened his zipper and pulled down his pants.

Her lips and hands were suddenly attacking his cock, causing Edward to groan out of displeasure more than anything else. _Does this woman having a fucking brain?_ Edward yelled to himself, too engrossed in his blowjob to wonder why the fuck he was still letting her give him one.

"Mmmm," Denise moaned, behaving like a porn star and sneaking useless peeks at Edward's closed eyes. _I hope he doesn't do anal. My ass is just _not_ up to the workout right now. Not after that shit Mark pulled this morning… fuck! I never went to the dry cleaners and now Eli's going to suspect something…_

Edward's hands went to her hair, intending to pull her off his dick so he could just pull up his pants and go home. Her incessant monologue and porn star fellatio technique was getting on his already strained nerves and she wasn't _doing_ anything for him, just exacerbating a problem he had no way of fixing.

Denise wasn't Bella, rubbing her bare foot all over his crotch beneath a table in Port Angeles. She wasn't demure and honestly shy in her attempts to attract him. She didn't hesitate when she kissed him as if she just expected him to stop without warning. She didn't weave her fingers in his hair and mewl against his mouth when she finally let herself go. She scratched and bit instead of providing light, sensual caresses. She was getting him off, not bringing him towards a high only accessible because some other emotion besides sexual gratification was involved.

Her hair was the wrong color. She was too tall and too thin, her clothes too flashy. Her heels were too high and she sucked in her cheeks. She wore too much make-up and she wanted this for all the wrong reasons. She was too concerned with what she did and not how she made him feel. She never blushed or stammered or bit her lip because she was nervous.

Edward was ashamed he had even thought something like this would help.

Denise held Edward's hand in her hair with her own and exaggerated sounds of pleasure. "Yeah, baby," _Jesus Christ! _"just like that." _How much fucking time do I have to spend before you come already?_

Her head was bobbing up and down, her tongue sliding everywhere he didn't want it. Edward gritted his teeth and pulled her hair harder, holding the back of her head far enough away from his cock that she could understand he wasn't playing around.

"Stop," he huffed, releasing his grip and letting Denise fall back on her heels. He turned around and quickly pulled up his pants, fixing himself before he buttoned and pulled up the zipper.

"You don't want this?" she asked, a forced hint of guilt lacing her words. _I don't even know why I bothered… you're not even that big._

Edward's hand was on the door handle and he took a quiet breath before answering. "No," he stated, turning the lock with his free hand. "And don't ever ask me again," he added, pulling open the door and then slamming it shut behind him.

He made it outside the building, into a cab, and up the stairs to his apartment before he allowed his guilt and shame to wash over him. _What the fuck is wrong with me? Who the fuck and I trying to kid?_ He unlocked his door and collapsed in the hallway, the flesh of his palms the only sensation on which he could adequately focus.

Edward took steady breaths and tried to determine whether he would feel better if he cried or threw up. He was somewhat disappointed when he failed to accomplish either.


	16. Lovers Quarrel

Edward barely slept the night, his dreams morphing into an empty, silent version of the art opening he'd tried to escape from. He was always standing by the makeshift bar, drinking beer after beer while the brunette came into focus as she apprehensively walked towards him. Her body would slowly shift into Bella's and then he would stand there speechless while Bella asked him 'why'.

Each time Edward woke up groggy and disoriented, he would just roll over and get sucked back into the dream, the only difference being what he was supposed to respond to. Nothing changed – not even what Bella said to him – but Edward always knew her question was different, that she was waiting for a new explanation.

Why did he come back into her life? Why did he leave? Why didn't he listen? Why did he? Why did he love her? Why wouldn't he stop?

He could never answer her, his guilt at trying to forget how much she affected him crawling into his subconscious and causing his dream-self to sweat, clam up, and stutter. Even when Edward gave up trying to sleep at six in the morning and sat up in bed, he knew he'd fucked up. It didn't really matter when, or even what he did or didn't do, he simply and finally understood that he'd always been fighting an uphill battle. That his selfish desire to have Bella outside of his own head would have always been completely and utterly futile.

Until she came to him, there was nothing he could do or change about either of their situations.

In the weak morning light of a New York summer day, Edward suddenly realized that somewhere along the way, he had stopped thinking of Bella as some_one_ and rather as some_thing_, another pawn he had tried desperately to control in his out-of-control life.

She didn't deserve that, and he didn't deserve her.

Edward groaned, furiously rubbing his eyes before he slowly stood up and methodically stretched his muscles. He needed to feel them burning while his mind shut off and everything else focused on the repetitive movement of his feet as they pounded against the pavement. He needed to know that his body could still function even when the rest of him failed to respond to a deep-seated urge to simply forget the one person who had inadvertently kept his world in focus.

One day Edward would learn to control how much his heart ached or how well he responded to the little annoyances that he'd always bottled up. But not today, not right now. This morning he wanted to forget that such hurt was possible.

He ran for miles, slowing down when his lungs felt like they were going to burst open and then resuming his faster pace when he'd sucked in enough air to assume he was no longer in danger of passing out. Edward tried to solely focus on the lactic acid coursing through his veins and the feel of the hot sun against his sweaty skin, even purposefully dulling his senses so only the sound of his breaths took up full residence in his conscious thoughts. But nothing could drown out how ashamed he felt at his behavior the night before, how he had left his own opening without telling anyone, tried to fuck a stranger, and then pathetically collapsed in his hallway when he realized he had failed at 'getting over' Bella.

He needed to apologize to Alice and then take stock of his rapidly deteriorating life, stat.

Edward cut through back alleys until he was facing the correct direction and then he ran home, stopping only to shower and properly dress before he was out the door again. It was a Saturday, but he knew Alice would be at the studio early, anal retentive about 'cleaning up' (even though nothing ever looked dirty or damaged to Edward) and readying the space for potential buyers or art enthusiasts to mingle for the next month.

He effortlessly climbed the two flights of stairs and unlocked the door, fumbling for his vibrating cell phone while trying to slide open the heavy metal.

"Hello?"

The call cut off just as Edward stepped inside. He shrugged and pocketed his phone, re-locking the door before turning around and almost running into an apprehensive Alice.

"What are you doing here?" she breathed out, her tentative smile alerting Edward to the fact that something was up.

"Didn't you just call me?" he asked, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up on one of the empty hooks. _Why is she acting so weird?_

"Yeah, um," _Crap… what should I say?_ "I was calling… to tell you… that you didn't need to come in today." _Right._ "Admin stuff," she shrugged, "nothing I haven't handled before."

"I know," Edward responded, surreptitiously looking around the studio for anything amiss. His gaze landed back on Alice before he continued. "I wanted to apologize, actually. I acted like an ass last night."

"It's fine, really." She paused, placing her hand on Edward's bicep while trying to steer him towards the door. "You could have just called, though."

"No," he stopped, rubbing both eyes with the fingers of his right hand, "I really fucked up. I just– I need to get my shit together and– Alice? What are you doing?"

"What?" she looked up, the calm on her face betrayed by the tone of her thoughts. _Why are you asking so many damn questions?_ "I told you that you didn't have to be here."

"And?"

"And that means you don't have to be here."

"Alright…" Edward trailed off, raising a brow to Alice's persistent smile before grabbing his jacket and heading towards the door.

_Finally! Now if I can just figure out how to get her _out_ of here…_

"Alice?"

"Yeah?" she questioned, her gaze focused on Edward and looking up at him in confusion.

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

Alice's eyes widened for a second before she quickly shook her head and squeaked out, "No." She cleared her throat and continued speaking. "Why? Was there something I was supposed to tell you?" _Crap! Crap crap crap…_

"No…"

"Okay, then, what's the big deal?" She laughed nervously. _Please don't ask me about her… please don't ask me– _

"Alice." Edward stated, exasperated by the fact that he knew Alice was hiding something but being unable to figure out what (_or better yet _who), exactly, she was trying to keep a secret.

"Edward," she paused, taking a breath and shooting her eyes towards his closed studio door. "I just think that it's in your best interest to leave and not get involved and just let me deal with the problem at hand."

"So there _is_ a problem…" he trailed off, crossing his arms and using their fifteen-inch height difference to his advantage.

"No, well, not _exactly_." She looked up at Edward and pouted. "Can you please just trust me on this?" _Trust that you are really _not_ in the best place to deal with her right now?_

"Alice," he sighed, exasperated. "I'm really not in the mood to tip toe around anymore. Whatever it is, I think that I can deal with it." Edward started walking towards his studio, Alice hurriedly trailing behind him.

"Please, Edward," she pleaded, grabbing his arm at the same time she tried to even their paces. "Just don't go in there. You're not ready." She stood with her hands on Edward's chest, blocking him from entering the studio. _Please please please, Edward… I didn't know what she looked like and then she was so persistent and I just–_

"Alice," he growled under his breath, one hand gripping the bridge of his nose while the other reached behind Alice's torso for the door handle. The force of Edward opening the door was no match for Alice's insistent pushes against his chest, and he easily brushed past her into the empty room.

"Edward!" she cried, grabbing his arm and unsuccessfully pulling his body away from the doorframe.

"Alice! I don't even see anything. What the hell were you–" he trailed off, stopping short and causing Alice to barrel into his back. His mouth dropped open and he felt his heart beating out of his chest, positive that the two other people in the room could hear it.

"We never met and I didn't know it was her until she was already in here and I couldn't very well demand she leave without some sort of explanation and then you came and I told you this was a bad idea," Alice rambled, one hand on her forehead while the other rested against her hip.

Edward stood still, his pulse so loud against his eardrum that Alice's long-winded explanation was wholly unnecessary. Just seeing Bella standing calmly by the window – shyly smiling as the filtering sunlight offered an ethereal backlight – was grounds for his immediate understanding. He didn't know if he would have stayed had Alice simply told him she was here, but a small part of him wanted to thank her for trying to think of him even though he hadn't been particularly good company since coming back from Seattle.

But now that Bella _was_ here, standing in his New York studio of her own free will and obviously wanting or intending to give some sort of explanation, Edward's overjoyed awe at seeing her was quickly dissipating into quiet fury. The only thing he could focus on was every single time he had ever asked for some type of answer to one of his many, many questions, each moment he had deliberated, fought over, and rationalized why she was worth the amount of trouble he'd gone through just to get his heart broken again and again.

Did she really think that he would be okay with this impromptu meeting? That after months of no contact she could simply approach him, say she was sorry, and then they could start their lives together? The idea was ludicrous and all Edward wanted to do was yell at her, rip apart his canvases, throw shit around his studio, and _show_ her how angry he was. How unabashedly pissed off he had become just because _she_ left _him_, had asked _him_ to leave_ her_.

Where the fuck did she get off?

"Alice," Edward deadpanned, not once taking his eyes off Bella, "could you please leave us alone?" Bella's smile faltered before leaving her face completely at the cold gaze she was now fixed with, and Alice paused before quietly shuffling out of the room and shutting the door behind her.

Edward took one breath before loudly exhaling and squeezing both hands into painful fists.

"Edward, I–" Bella faltered, her attempt at apologizing stifled just as easily as her tentative step towards Edward. The way he was staring her down, his eyes lowered into cruel slits, stopped her dead in her tracks.

He didn't miss a single beat before cutting her off.

"What, Bella?" Edward's voice was quiet but not soft, riddled with twelve years of trying to get what he was feeling out in the open and then, once he had, resigning himself to pick up the pieces. There was emotion behind his words, but not at all what Bella was expecting (Edward could see that, at least, notice the way she looked anywhere but at him as she fidgeted and sunk into herself). This wasn't the Edward she had left in Washington and, for once, he was glad. "What is so fucking important to warrant some shit excuse? Why now, Bella? After eight goddamn months of cat and mouse you suddenly decide you're 'ready' to be a grown-up and explain yourself?"

"No, Edward, I just–" she paused, taking a breath before straightening up, "I came to apologize. To tell you that I was wrong, so, so wrong." Her voice trailed off and she was back to peaking at Edward through her lashes, the ground suddenly much more interesting than the man she had come to see.

"You're sorry?" Edward repeated, the words feeling foreign on his tongue as his upper torso shook with thinly restrained anger. Her meek apology didn't even _begin_ to cover what he felt was appropriate and he was finding it difficult to reign in his aggression. This was _Bella_, for Christ's sake, and they weren't in Fight Club – even if he wanted to calmly walk towards her and then beat the shit out of her. He knew it would feel good, he just wasn't sure how she would take the gesture. "For what?" he asked, slowly taking the necessary steps to close the fifteen foot gap between them. "For lying to me? For accusing me of infidelity? For knowingly entering into a relationship you were just waiting to end? For humoring my affections? For ripping my heart out? For sleeping with me because it was _convenient_?"

Each jab brought them closer together until Edward, puffed up in anger and the pathetic end to his scorned love affair, towered over Bella, his shallow breaths extremely loud to both their ears. He had refrained from shaking her, from forcing her physical body to register the emotional depth of his wounds, but the assault wouldn't have been necessary – each sneered question only added to her self-blame. She was curling in her shoulders while holding her stomach, doing and saying nothing in an attempt to fight back. Edward knew he was causing her pain but, in that moment, he just couldn't seem to care.

"I'm sorry," Bella mumbled to her shoes.

"Yes," Edward laughed humorlessly, "I am sure you are very, very sorry you even bothered." He unclenched one hand and pulled it through his hair, tugging at the strands at the back of his neck to try and ground himself.

Bella looked up, her eyes wet with unshed tears. She slowly unfurled her body before speaking. "You think this is easy?" Edward looked up, a note of surprise quickly masked by indignation. "You think I want to stand here and admit that I was wrong? Look back on every decision I made about you and realize how badly I fucked up?" She looked at him expecting an answer and it took Edward a moment before he could do more than scream in her face.

"Yes, Bella," he sighed, trying not to sound as condescending as he felt. "That is _exactly_ how I assumed you would behave." He turned around and leaned heavily against the windowsill.

"Don't."

"Don't _what_?" Edward sneered, turning around abruptly and shrugging off Bella's attempts to physically console him.

"Don't pretend like I meant nothing to you, that you were the only one who got their heart broken."

"Stop patronizing me," he spat out, his hands curling into fists as he again closed the distance between them; Bella stood her ground, the tears she refused to cry threatening the aggressive stance she was holding. "You have no right to fucking come in here and tell me what I feel for you, to assume that I had the same choice as you did. You dictated _everything_, Bella. You knew what was going to happen and you chose anyway. Don't blame that on me."

Bella let her hands drop into mimicking angry fists before she stood toe-to-toe with Edward. "You act like you're the only one who got hurt! Like you are the only one who could ever _be_ hurt! You don't get to stand there and tell me my choice was easy!"

"Your _choice_!" he growled back. "The choice you made without me? The one that wasn't even set in stone? The one you merely assumed would happen? You don't get to play God, Bella. You had no right to take my choice away from me."

"You think I wanted to?" she screamed. "Can you honestly stand there and say that you would have chosen differently? That you would have kept going, just knowing what would have happened?" Bella paced in front of Edward, her questions only punctuated by a quick reference with her hand. His anger began to subside as he tried to rationalize his own behavior at being in her situation. Would he have really behaved so differently?

"That man ripped me apart," she continued, one hand combing through her hair while her eyes pleaded with him to understand her motivation. "I couldn't let myself do that, couldn't spend years loving someone who would choose to cheat, couldn't give my heart to someone just knowing they would later rip it out." Edward noticed that she had stopped believing _he_ was that future wandering husband and his heart rate picked up at the idea that it had something to do with her attempt at apologizing. "I'm not sorry for loving you," Bella added, looking up at him with all her defenses down, "I'm simply sorry it took me this long to figure that out."

Bella quickly bent over to retrieve her bag and then shuffled past Edward, gazing at nothing but the floor while she silently made her escape.

_She's giving up?_ Edward questioned. _After _everything_, she's just giving up again?_

_Well… you did scream at her. And act like you wanted nothing to do with her._

_Because I'm fucking angry as all hell! I can be angry and still in love with her._

_Yeah, well, you might want to get your foot out of your ass and let _her_ know that._

"Bella!" The word was spoken quietly, but held more conviction than Edward had anticipated. Bella stopped and curiously turned around, causing Edward to almost hit her chest with the momentum. He stopped short and paused before speaking. "I– I don't want you to leave," he breathed out, catching Bella's small smile before he looked away again. "I am so incredibly angry right now but that doesn't mean that I _don't_ love you. Or ever really _stopped_ loving you. However stupid that may have been," Edward trailed off, one hand attacking the back of his neck while his eyes continuously roamed over Bella's head.

"Hey," she softly stated, grabbing Edward's free hand and squeezing it gently before they were making eye contact. "I know." She smiled as Edward gazed at her quizzically. He abruptly pulled his hand away and took a step backwards, erasing her smile.

"You _know_?" Edward asked, his tone incredulous and clipped as his eyes narrowed with the unspoken suggestion that Bella had foreseen all of this – not just the way he would react to her first try at an apology but also his change of heart after she had walked away. He didn't like it.

"Yes!" Bella cried, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

Edward didn't like it at all.

"Tell me _what_, Bella?" He mimicked her gesticulations before turning in half-circles while trying to think through his uprising anger. "I've been pretty understanding since I learned about your _ability_," he hissed the last word, trying to keep Bella's secret from Alice's eavesdropping, but his efforts only made Bella flinch with the unintentional inflection, "but it doesn't help either of us when you refuse to clue me in! Who's to stay I don't unknowingly make something come true just because I'm not aware I should try and stop myself? That's not fair, Bella!"

"But that's how it's supposed to be, Edward!" she countered, grabbing both his biceps and stilling his frantic movements. "Can't you just trust that I know what I'm dealing with?"

He snorted once before turning away. "That's supposed to make me feel better? That you _know_ how much your 'visions' just seem to fuck everything up?"

Bella flinched as if physically hit, removing her hands from Edward's arms and then crossing her own in a subconscious defense.

"Do you even know why I'm apologizing to you?" The quiet strength of Bella's voice brought Edward's focus back to the woman in front of him. He absentmindedly rubbed his jaw before shaking his head 'no'. "I was wrong, Edward," she continued, not once breaking eye contact. "What I thought I saw… what I told you would happened… I was wrong."

"Just like that?" he fumed. "All of a sudden you had a change of faith?"

"No– I mean, yes–"

"Which is it, Bella?" Edward asked, a slight hint of playful malice lacing his question. Bella picked up on the sneer and looked at him before straightening up and narrowing her eyes. He would have smiled at the spine she seemed to be growing, if he weren't so angry with her to begin with.

"I was wrong about _you_," she annunciated through clenched teeth. "I went to Portland and met someone and realized I was wrong about _you_."

A snippet of their earlier conversation ran through Edward's mind, steadily chipping away at the wall he had built up between them.

"What does that even mean?" he asked quietly, all traces of patronizing exasperation gone. He simply wanted to understand what she was trying to explain.

"I spent years believing that _your_ wedding would be _our_ wedding. That _my_ pregnancy would be _our_ pregnancy. That by refusing to fall in love with you, I could somehow stop what I'd always assumed would be inevitable."

Edward clenched his hands into fists, his breaths coming in short pants while he closed his eyes tightly to try and offer some semblance of quiet introspection. He knew he was angry, but at whom? Himself, for failing to show Bella everything she was now only starting to believe? Bella, for taking away his autonomy and making the wrong decision again and again? Fate, that cruel, disingenuous bastard that had played with both their lives and caused so much misery?

Even though Edward couldn't decide where to place his anger, he inexplicably knew one thing: he was tired of being angry in the first place.

He looked up and noticed Bella was trying to surreptitiously wipe away stray tears. His fingers unclenched and the vice-grip on his heart split open. He was gripping her shoulders within a second.

"What does that mean? What are you trying to tell me?" He needed to know. He had to finally understand what the hell he was up against.

"I chose wrong," she whispered, sniffling and squeezing her eyes tightly to ward off more tears. "I made everything I fought against come true because I couldn't trust you, couldn't trust that what I felt for you… what you felt for me… was honest."

"What are you saying?" Edward rushed out, gently shaking Bella's shoulder in an effort to physically release whatever jumbled meaning she couldn't quite reach with words.

"James," she deadpanned.

"Who?" Edward pleaded. "Bella! Who is James?"

She looked up and half-smiled, shaking her head and blinking before resuming her attempt at an explanation. "I met him and let him take me out on dates and then I started having dreams again. Except they weren't new… they were everything I'd already seen before but clearer, longer, more detailed." Bella's head turned slowly towards Edward, her gaze lagging two seconds behind, and he realized how honest she was being, how incredibly difficult he was making this for her just by demanding she atone for it. "They were going to come true because I had pushed you away and met James instead."

Her shoulders hunched over and then her body sagged in Edward's grip. Without thinking, Edward pulled Bella towards him, moving his arms until they were wrapped around her torso and his nose was buried in her hair. He felt his stomach bottom out but simply breathed more deeply, forcing her clean smell and warmth to unlock the chains he had repeatedly used to keep himself from groveling at her feet and behaving in such a fashion. He could have smiled, realizing that the one thing that could so completely break his heart was still the only salve that would thoroughly mend it back together.

"Bella, please. It's over. He can't hurt you anymore."

"But don't you get it?" Bella suddenly pushed back from Edward's chest and stood in front of him fuming. "I did that to _myself_. I couldn't let those visions go! Even after I fell in love with you and realized you would never leave me… would do anything to force me to realize how stupid I was behaving. It's my fault, Edward! I broke your heart and I pushed you away and I wouldn't let you love me and now here we are and you're _still_ willing to forgive everything I've ever done to keep us apart."

She backed up and bent over to pick up her bag, her fingers around the door handle before Edward's voice stilled her movements.

"Stop."

"Please," Bella shook her head without lifting it or looking backwards. "I don't deserve this."

"Do you think I'm going to stop now?" Edward asked, quietly slipping between Bella and her way out. "That I'm simply going to deny a chance to be with you because you think _I_ won't take it?" His hand was cupping her jaw before she turned away and he dropped his attempt at affection.

"You deserve better than this, Edward. Better than someone with a faulty sense of security and the ability to always fuck things up."

Bella let out a humorless laugh, her forehead (of what Edward could see from his particular angle) creased with premature lines of worry. Edward had no idea whether her current behavior was an honest reaction to their situation and what seemed to be a sudden realization that she was mostly at fault, or if what he was about to do would just play into her premature knowledge of how their interaction was going to play out.

He decided he didn't care.

"I don't _want_ anyone else," he stated, grabbing both of Bella's hands and pulling them into his own. "Even if you are a witch and have a piss poor sense of judgment."

Edward's smile grew with Bella's soft snort. She playfully pushed him and then swiped at her stuffy nose.

"Don't."

"Don't what?" he baited her, slowly pulling her body in closer until they stood chest to chest.

"This isn't a joke to me." Bella was fiddling with the back of Edward's shirt, twisting the hem with her fingers while mumbling into his sternum. He sighed and squeezed her body tighter, exhaling loudly before lightly kissing the top of her head.

"We're always going to fight, Bella. You'll see things and I'll try to stop them and sometimes you'll get so mad at me that we can't even look at each other without wanting to scream." He paused, absentmindedly rubbing up and down her spine.

"But?" she questioned.

"But even then," he trailed off, pulling her shoulders back and forcing them to make eye contact, "I'll still love you." Edward paused, ghosting his thumb from Bella's forehead to the start of her jaw. "Even more than I do right now."

"You'll hate me," she breathed out, feeling her eyelids slowly flutter close as his other hand mimicked the one already surrounding her face.

"I know," he whispered, leaning in as he rubbed circles on the apples of her cheeks.

"I'll make you miserable."

"I know."

"I'll never be normal," Bella stated, the words almost inaudible against Edward's lips.

He breathed in against her nose and smiled, "You're perfect to me."

**

* * *

A/N**: _This is the end. :) Although this story has _a lot_ of angst, I still always think of it as a romance as well, and have been keeping this ending in mind from the beginning. It's a bit corny, but the whole point was to get Edward and Bella together, right? And that's a happy moment in my mind._

_Copious amounts of gratitude to anyone who has taken time to review, or will continue to review now that the story is finished. And, if you've made it this far, a simple one-line review_ is_ really appreciated._


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